Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Dream a Little Dream

Dream a Little Dream
Debra Clopton


Extra, Extra: Wedding-Ready Rancher! It was just a local newspaper column, right? But when reporter Molly Popp touted the marriage-worthiness of local rancher Bob Jacobs, would-be wives descended on his Mule Hollow ranch by the busload. Molly felt guilty for the ruckus she'd caused - especially when Bob was injured rescuing an overzealous admirer from a bull.There was nothing else city-slicker Molly could do but pitch in and help Bob out. That is, until word of her column brought the job offer she'd been praying for and a choice she never thought she'd have to make: a Manhattan byline or Mule Hollow's most eligible bachelor.









The sight of Bob Jacobs storming toward her sent a shiver down Molly Popp’s spine.


The blaze in his eyes meant only one thing. He’d read the article.

Bob halted in front of her. “Well, Molly, I guess I’ve learned my lesson. If you’re anywhere in the room, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Molly glowered. He thought he knew her so well.

“Come on, Miss Journalist, let me see the notepads you’re holding. Who’re you picking on this week?” he asked beside her ear, his warm breath feathering along her neck.

He reached and slid the pencil from behind her ear. “Don’t write another word about me.” And then he strolled away down Main Street with a clink and a swagger.

And her pencil.




DEBRA CLOPTON


was a 2004 Golden Heart finalist in the inspirational category. She makes her home in Texas with her family.




Dream a Little Dream

Debra Clopton








The Lord guards the course of the just

and protects the way of his faithful ones.

—Proverbs 2:8


This book is dedicated to my editor, Krista Stroever. I count it a privilege and a blessed opportunity to work with you. Thank you for your knowledge, your vision and your prayers.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION




Chapter One


Molly Popp noted that the cattle guard in front of her was like a giant billboard proclaiming in bold letters NO TRESPASSING, and yet, she was about to cross it anyway.

If she wanted a picture of the house that sat a hundred yards from the road—and she did—then she needed to cross this cattle guard, drive through the herd of bored-looking black cows and top the hill that left only the red rooftop visible from where she sat. Piece of cake.

She told herself Bob Jacobs, the owner, wouldn’t mind. After all, this was a win-win situation.

Then why did she feel she was about to do something she was going to regret? She’d never used photos before, but her editor thought a picture would add a new touch to her popular weekly newspaper column. And he’d thought Bob’s ranch would be a good image to start with…especially since he believed readers would be very interested in the ranch after her column came out tomorrow.

Gripping the steering wheel of her convertible VW Bug, she told herself to relax. But it actually wasn’t just the picture that was bothering her.

It was tomorrow’s column.

Had she stepped over a boundary with it?

Remember, win-win, mutually beneficial.

“Yeah, yeah…” she sighed, and tried to calm the churning pit that used to be her stomach.

Just do it, Molly! This is a good thing.

Reaching for her camera, she dipped her head through the strap, and made certain it was turned on, since there was no need to waste time once she was there—after all, this was a surprise.

That’s right! It’s a surprise, so perk up, Molly, and do this, think positive.

On that note, reassured somewhat, Molly pressed the gas and in a teeth-jarring instant shot across the row of steel bars of the cattle guard. Hair whipping in the wind, dust flying behind her, she guided her little Bug as it sped up the gravel road toward the crest of the hill. This was for Bob’s own good!

She hadn’t made it twenty yards when the formerly slow-moving, bored-looking cows in the field suddenly started trotting toward her, converging on the road ahead of her and surrounding her on all sides! It was as if she was the magnet and they were paper clips. Not wanting to hit the animals, she was forced to switch from gas to brake and within seconds she was at a complete standstill surrounded by the big curious bovines.

“Shoo!” she called weakly. This was not in the plan. Not the plan at all. It occurred to her too late that a topless car might not be the best thing when one was encircled by a group of cows. But she didn’t know what to expect from cows. She was a city girl and she’d just bought her new VW convertible because her friend Lacy had a convertible and seemed to have a lot of fun in it.

She’d never thought about drool. But there it was, dripping over her front hood from an all-too-inquisitive cow. “Shoo! Shoo!” she called a bit more strongly. “Go away.”

The herd just looked at her with eyes that said, yeah right. One cow started rubbing its side against her passenger door and another one joined in slobbering on the car. “Yuck!” she exclaimed, as yet another one licked her window then started to nibble on her windshield wiper. “Aw man, that’s just not right—” In reflex she honked her horn. So much for surprise. But she couldn’t let them eat her car. To her dismay they didn’t run from the blast of her horn. As a matter of fact they suddenly came closer. It dawned her as one stuck its head into the back seat that maybe a horn was used to call them to dinner. Hadn’t she seen that somewhere? When one started to place its head between her and the steering wheel, she screamed—to which the cow suddenly threw its head back and vamoosed away from the car.

Okay then! Maybe that was the way to get something done, Molly thought and opened her mouth to scream again but stopped when she heard the low rumble of thunder. She was startled to see the cattle part as if they’d been struck by lightning. She realized it wasn’t thunder she’d heard when her attention was drawn to a fast-moving object barreling down on her through the path between the departing cows.

One minute Molly was sitting behind the wheel of her car and the next instant she was scrambling to get into the passenger seat as the biggest, blackest humpbacked bull charged straight into her car door! Just ran into it like a runaway train!

The impact threw Molly into the air and her camera hit her in the chin, which she barely even noticed. She was too busy screaming!

The crazed mass of writhing muscle slammed into her car again and again while, heart in her throat, Molly clung to the headrest and struggled to get a grip of the terror threatening to immobilize her. When the car lifted on two wheels, she realized the road was built up from the ground slightly. The car was at a precarious disadvantage—toppling over from the leverage and power behind the bull’s colossal bashing was almost unavoidable. When it bounced back onto four wheels she knew she was going to have to make a run for it or chance getting squashed if it flipped.

The thought had just clicked into place when Bob’s white truck blasted over the top of the hill and raced in her direction. It was a sight Molly would never forget.

She was saved, she thought.

However, the raging bull swung its massive head to the side and glared at the intruder and to Molly’s dismay pawed the earth, spun toward the truck, then charged. Unable to believe that the bull would take on the huge truck, Molly sprang to her feet to stand in the seat. She was totally unprepared when in a flash the crazy animal changed its mind, whirled back around and attacked her car again. Molly sailed backward. Flipped like a pancake right out of the car, she hit the ground with a thud. The wind whooshed right out of her and she figured she was a dead duck.

“Sylvester!”

The shout was music to her ears as she struggled to stand, then slipped on a wet cow patty and almost went down again. Bob Jacobs sprang from his white truck, Indiana Jones to her rescue, whip cracking above his head—the answer to her prayers. Was he ever!

Like the rodeo bullfighter he’d once been, the gorgeous cowboy was in his element, charging the startled brute. “Sylvester, get out of there. Move on!” His command was as sharp as the crack of the whip he wielded with such skill.

Molly relaxed a little, still standing in the bull’s sights but reassured by the authority in Bob’s voice and the steel in his eyes. He was a beautiful sight to see, working the whip around, letting it explode once more just above Sylvester’s head.

Mild-mannered Bob is a hero!

Her hero.

Suddenly adrenaline pumped through her veins like water churning over Niagara Falls. Modern-day Knight To The Rescue! The headline flashed across her brain, bumping the shock out of the way and driving her to react. This was good. Really good! Instantly the reporter in her took over and, despite the danger, she lifted her camera and started snapping shots.

Watching Bob in action through the viewfinder of her camera proved she’d been right all along. She’d known the first day she’d arrived in Mule Hollow and watched him carry hay bales down Main Street that he was the kind of man dreams were made of. Once she’d come to know him, she realized it was true in more ways than just his good looks. The easygoing cowboy had a heart as big as Texas.

And he was going to make her dreams come true. The belligerent bull snorted and swung toward her, a menacing glare in its eyes—

Retraction—Bob was going to make her dreams come true after he finished saving her life!



Sylvester had literally trampled Molly’s tiny car and, as Bob flung himself between the irresponsible reporter and the unpredictable animal, he thanked the Lord for looking out for those without sense enough to look out for themselves.

“Put that camera away,” he shouted, unable to believe she was taking pictures! On the other hand, he couldn’t remember seeing her without her camera except during church on Sunday, or when she had her laptop or pen in her hand. The woman was always working on a story.

Her reply was to snap some close-ups of him. Reporters! Disgusted, he grabbed her arm and pressed her behind him. “Back toward the truck. Now,” he demanded. “Sylvester’s not finished, he’s only deciding what he’s going to stomp next—you, me or the car again.”

At last, letting the camera swing from the strap around her neck, she locked her hands around his biceps, cutting off all circulation she squeezed so tightly.

“I thought you knew him!” she gasped. “I thought you could control him. I mean, he listens to you, right?” Her breath brushed his ear as she stretched to her tiptoes behind him, her camera digging into his back.

“I own him. Big difference.” He angled his arm behind him, pressed his hand to her side and directed her toward his truck, keeping his eyes glued to Sylvester, his whip ready for action. “Believe me, when a two-thousand-pound animal goes into a rage no one controls him if he doesn’t want to be controlled.”

“C’mon just back up, nice and slow,” he urged, instinctively wanting to reassure her.

She nodded against his shoulder. Her hands moved to his waist clutching like vise grips, and her chin dug into his shoulder as she stood on tiptoe watching Sylvester. They’d almost made it without stumbling over each other when Sylvester lowered his head, turned back toward the poor car and charged again.

The impact was so unforgiving that the animal and car both lifted from the ground for a solid second. The sound rocketed through the air like an explosion.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Molly cried, springing toward the animal like a wildcat protecting her cubs. It was a reflex reaction, Bob understood as he managed to catch her bolting past him. Scooping her around the waist, he hauled her back. “Oh no, you don’t,” he grunted when her elbow rammed him in the ribs.

“Let me go!”

“Ouch,” he grunted again when her heel hit him in the shin. “I’m not going to let you commit suicide. Not after all the trouble I just went through to save you.”

“But my car!” She waved toward the calamity.

Still clutching her around the waist, he spun them both around and lifted her through the open door of his truck. She was still struggling as he shoved her inside. Behind them the crushing sounds of Sylvester battering her car reverberated through the air, a reminder of what could have happened to Molly. Thanking the Lord again, he climbed in behind her, tossed his whip to the dash and grabbed the gearshift.

“Wh-what are you doing?” She pointed past him, her fingers fluttering in front of his nose as she sputtered.

“I’m getting you out of here.” He paused, glancing at her for the first time as he pressed the gas pedal.

“But you can’t. My car! What about my car?” She yanked her hand back and glared at him with huge eyes.

“Sylvester’s not finished with your car. And right now all I care about is keeping you safe and letting him calm down. What were you doing in my pasture anyway?”

They’d reached the cattle guard only twenty feet from where Molly had met Sylvester. She twisted onto her knees in the leather seat to watch her car take another hit through the back window. “But,” she gasped weakly, latching onto his shoulder again.

“That’s all I can do at the moment.” He felt bad for her, but it was only a car. She should be glad it wasn’t her out there getting plastered.

She met his gaze and in the same movement lifted her camera and started snapping shots through the back glass.

What a breed! Reporters never ceased to amaze him—it was always about the story. And yet, he’d seen the terror in her eyes, knew she was coping on her own terms.

He still didn’t like it.

At the road, she finally stopped clicking pictures and slumped into the seat facing forward, her foot tapping a rapid beat on the floor mat. She was no doubt figuring all the different ways she could twist this story to meet several papers’, magazine and blog formats at one time. She should be in shock, but no, it was the story that obviously had her mind whirring!

The next few miles were ridden in silence. Bob struggled to calm down before saying anything else he might regret. From the corner of his eye he studied Molly.

Molly Popp.

He’d noticed her the first day she’d driven into Mule Hollow several months back. He’d been helping set up Main Street for the town fair when she stepped out of her car and sent his world spinning.

Who wouldn’t have noticed her? She had long chestnut hair that shimmered in the sunshine with every purposeful step she took. Today it was pulled back into a ponytail, a few strands fluttering around her face, drawing attention to the wide green eyes that dominated her delicate features.

Those had been his first impressions of the beauty at his side. She was a nice person. A stunning woman. But it hadn’t taken long to realize she wasn’t the woman for him. He’d momentarily forgotten she was a reporter. A fact that emerged after only a few conversations with her. There was no missing the sparkle in her eyes as she talked about her work. It was clear that Molly’s career was first and foremost in her mind—which was her prerogative. But he’d stepped back quicker than a cowboy hearing the rattle of a Texas rattlesnake.

His prerogative was to look for a wife. He wasn’t interested in playing the field and dating for the sake of dating. He wanted to settle down with a traditional woman—a wife who would focus on him, the children they would have and the life they would build together.

Yep, Bob might have rescued Molly because she needed rescuing—and he couldn’t help but enjoy looking at her—but he knew where to draw the line on his emotions. For months, that line had been drawn right there on the ground in front of Molly Popp. Reporter.

But there was one problem that had steadily gotten worse over the past few weeks.

Molly had decided to use him as a step toward achieving her goal.

And that wasn’t going to happen.

He’d been putting off confronting her about mentioning him so much in her weekly column. However, finding her in his pasture was the last straw. It was time to talk.

“Why would you have a killer bull in the pasture in front of your house?”

What? Her words sliced though the silence that had built between them like an arrow toward a bull’s-eye. He focused and met her accusing gaze. “I don’t normally.” The woman had some nerve. He’d give her a little slack because she’d been traumatized by his bull. The thought of what that maniac would have done to her if he hadn’t heard the sound of her horn plagued him. But the fact of the matter remained that it was none of her business what his animals did on his private property.

Still he found himself explaining.

“Sylvester broke through a gate this morning and headed straight for his girlfriends. I had one of my other bulls in there while he was recovering from an injured foot and it was driving him mad. Clint Matlock and J.P. were on their way to help me corral him.”

“Corral him? He needs to be shot.”

Bob arched an eyebrow at her and her expression crumpled into remorse.

“Okay, maybe not shot. I’m upset. But he needs to be put far away from people. He’s an animal. And I mean a wild animal. He just charged me! Right there out of the blue. I mean I didn’t even see him coming! And his girlfriends, they tricked me. They were meandering across the road. I think they were doing it on purpose. I really do. To distract me and get me to stop. And then wham!”

She was talking faster than an auctioneer. The earlier terror in her eyes was replaced with anger. Even though she’d been in the wrong for trespassing on his land, thus endangering her life, Bob still felt a sense of guilt at her unfortunate morning.

But she’d been trespassing on his private property. Just as she’d been trespassing on his life with her newspaper articles.

He pushed the truth aside and tried to focus on getting her to town and out of his truck before he said something he might regret.

He thought about how this woman would do anything for a story. Her actions proved it. “You were taking pictures—”

“Excuse me?” she huffed. “I figured if I was going down I should go out with a story. I mean, when I was trapped inside the car thinking I was about to get killed, I could just see the humiliating headlines. You know the ones that would read, Reporter Molly Popp Found Squashed Inside Her Aptly Colored Banana-Toned VW Bug. Nope, I refused to go out that way.”

He glanced from the road back to her. “Everything with you is about a story. Do you ever just relax and enjoy the day without thinking about the next idea? The next angle? It’s not healthy.”

He looked back at the road. Her grunt of disapproval told him he’d stepped on her toes. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion. Not long after she’d come to town they’d gotten into it, lightly. It had started out as a quiet discussion they’d had one night after church. And like now, they’d agreed to disagree. It was the reason he’d known not to pursue the undeniable attraction he felt toward Molly.

And he was attracted, but competing with a camera and a computer were not his hopes and dreams for his life. Molly’s mind never ceased looking for an angle. And he had no plans to live every day with that kind of mind. Or everyday “agreeing to disagree.”

Through no choice of his own, Bob had been down that dead-end road once and he wasn’t about to go there again. Ever. No matter how much it had bothered him to shut down his interest in Molly.

Which brought him full circle with the little matter that needed to be resolved between them…her using him as her main story in the world of good press. Apparently the woman would crawl over anybody to keep her precious name in the paper. It was disgusting. Her syndicated column was about Mule Hollow, and everyone who lived there, but somehow, slowly, he’d become an increasing headliner.

“What are you going to do about my car?”

Her changing the subject wasn’t a surprise. She never wanted to talk about her inability to join in with the real world. He took the opportunity to try and back off from the agitation building inside him. He tried instead to focus on the right way to handle this, not his gut reaction.

“I’ll have Prudy come over as soon as we get Sylvester out of there and he can take it back to town. I’ll call my insurance agent first thing in the morning.” He glanced at her. “I am sorry about your car.”

And he was, but it was time to get a handle on the situation. This showdown had been building for weeks, a showdown he prayed about and thought would be resolved for him. But clearly the Lord had decided to leave the fixing up to him. And he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Bucking up his resolve, he directed the big truck toward the side of the road. This was not something to discuss while driving. He slid the gear into park and turned toward Molly.

“What are you doing?” she asked, swinging toward him, surprise written in her reaction.

Bob shook his head, amazed at her ability to seem so naive. The best thing for him to do before he chickened out and let those big mossy eyes work on him was to get right to the heart of the matter. “Why are you writing about me so much in your column?”

She blinked. “I write about everyone.”

“Not like you do me. And why are you snooping around my house? I’ve had it, Molly.” He rubbed his temple, trying to focus on his agenda. “It’s bad enough you’re writing about my personal life for all the world to see, I don’t need you putting pictures of me in there, too. Matter of fact, that’s what this is about. I don’t want you writing about me anymore. Got that?” There, that should do it.

She could go her way and he could go his. And maybe the nagging interest he was continually needing to redirect away from her would vanish once and for all.



Okay, so maybe she deserved the accusatory scorn that she saw in his eyes. To an extent. She raked a hand through her hair, remembering it was in a ponytail only after her fingers snagged against the beaded scrunchy. He’d just told her not to write about him anymore!

“What have I written about you that’s so terrible? I’ve only generalized about what a nice guy you are. Just like I do about all the cowboys in Mule Hollow.”

He snorted in disbelief, his dark eyes narrowing as the color changed from navy to almost black like a cloud darkening open water.

“Are you joking? I’m showing up in the papers more than the President. I can read, you know. And even if I couldn’t, everybody in Mule Hollow gets a real treat quoting me every line you’ve written about me. Enough already.” He took off his straw Stetson and held it between his tanned hands in an advertisement-worthy pause before sweeping his curls off his forehead and settling the hat back on his head.

Molly swallowed, watching the restraint in his movements. He was really mad. She’d never seen Bob mad. The guy was the mildest-mannered man she’d ever met, which was one of the many qualities that had attracted her to him in the first place. But this was ridiculous….

“Seriously, what have I done that is all that bad? Tell me.”

“Cassie.” He bit the word out and nailed her with frank eyes.

“Cassie? I can’t believe you’re mad about Cassie! She’s a sweet girl. You made a great impression on her.”

“I like Cassie. But she stalked me for a month if you remember!”

Molly’s mouth fell open. “Hey, most men would love to have a beautiful young woman chasing after them. And besides, I did hear you say, right there in Sam’s Diner, that you’d specifically bought your own ranch so that you would be ready when the Lord sent you a wife. You said that you were going to step out on faith and show the Lord you knew He had someone special out there for you. You said you were going to settle down and get prepared.”

Bob frowned and yanked his hat off again. Those distracting dark curls drew her attention once more and Molly found her gaze lingering there, until he moved his head and his navy eyes slammed into hers. “I said that to Clint Matlock in confidence. You were eavesdropping—”

“Eavesdropping! Are you kidding! You were sitting in Sam’s diner. Everyone heard you say it.”

“That may be true.” He gritted the words through barely moving lips. “Still,” he snapped, on a second wind, an angry wind, “it doesn’t give you the right to think you can plunk me in the middle of your stories like a poster boy for some lonely cowboys foundation. I said I was getting ready for the wife God was going to send me. What makes you think God needs your help? Because I certainly don’t.”

“Now that’s not fair. God’s using me.”

“And you’re using me.”

That tripped her up for a moment. True, her column had been picked off the wire by a huge number of newspapers across the country. The interest in what was happening in Mule Hollow was a phenomenon! Though she’d already gained some praise and recognition for one of her personal segment articles prior to moving to Mule Hollow, and her magazine article sales had been enough to help pay the bills with their meager success, the Mule Hollow phenomenon had put her on the map. After she’d seen the ad and decided to relocate here and started her column about Mule Hollow, well, things had been great. Everyone was interested in the dying little town that had done a national ad campaign for wannabe wives.

Even magazines that never had given her the time of day were suddenly interested in what she had to say—on the subject of Mule Hollow as well as other topics. It was a dream come true. She couldn’t deny it.

Of course, in the big world of media Molly realized only her pinky toe was in the door and the overnight recognition could be gone in a flash. But to say that she was using him…well, it sounded so wrong. “It’s a win-win situation,” she said in her defense—and it was true. “I get the recognition I need to move up in my career while you and the other fellas get invaluable exposure that will lead would-be wives to our little town. I’m helping you fulfill your dream.”

Looking at Bob sent her own heart into that all-too-familiar jig. The Bob jig, as she referred to it. The guy didn’t even know the effect he had on women, which was part of his appeal. He wasn’t a spotlight kind of man. He was a little shy about all the recognition he was getting. That was what the fuss was really about, she reassured herself.

She knew he realized her work was helping Mule Hollow. There was life in the little town now, when only months ago the place had been dead. The fact that Adela Ledbetter, Norma Sue Jenkins and Esther Mae Wilcox had put in motion a plan to revive their beloved town had ultimately led to the influx of husband-hunting women. Molly was meant to be here. Her help was crucial. The fact that her articles had caused a young woman like Cassie, without home or family, to hitchhike to Mule Hollow in the hope of finding what she’d never had…brought tears to Molly’s eyes.

For her, it had been Lacy Brown—now Lacy Matlock—who’d inspired her to move to the town and change her life.

The wacky hairdresser had recognized her mission in life when she’d read the first ad and instantly moved to Mule Hollow to open her salon and help bring life to the town. She’d believed, and rightly so, that the women would read the ads about a bunch of lonesome cowboys and that they would come. And she’d believed they would want to look good while trying to find the right cowboy. But most important, she believed that while they were getting all spruced up in her salon, she would be able to witness to them.

And it was happening. Molly had been the first person Lacy had talked to about the Lord. That conversation had changed her life.

Molly had accepted the Lord into her life and begun to build a personal relationship with Him that very day. She was stumbling all the way, but trying, as Lacy had shown her by example, to put God first in everything she did. Not an easy thing to do. Especially when someone like Bob didn’t fully appreciate the good she was striving to accomplish. The man had said he wanted a wife. She was simply trying to help him!

And she wouldn’t do that for all the bachelors. Oh no, some of these cowboys were lonesome for good reasons! No ambition, partying all the time, not an ounce of respect for a lady…but the ones like Bob—especially Bob—were wonderful guys and she only wanted to help.

Her thoughts whirring, she met his dubious stare straight on, his denial ringing in her ears. He might not think he needed her help, but God had called her to Mule Hollow for a reason. Maybe at first coming to the quaint little town had been about career strategy, but that had lasted about a week. She had started seeing things differently the instant the Lord entered her heart.

Women out there needed good men.

Decent men.

And that fundamental realization had set off a light bulb in her brain. It didn’t take long to see Mule Hollow was packed full of wonderful, God-loving men. And like Lacy kept telling her, God had His reasons for bringing her here. What better reason than to use her talents to showcase the good guys? Lead the women to water as Norma Sue was fond of saying. So that was what she was doing before she moved on to her next step up the ladder of success. She’d been showcasing all the cowboys. She couldn’t help it that readers loved Bob.

“Well,” Bob said, bringing her wandering brain back to the present. “God might be using you, but, like I said, I’m not in need of your services. The conversation I had with Clint was none of your business.”

She expelled a slow breath, fighting the urge to glare at him. “I’m only trying to help,” she reiterated, starting to feel nervous. Really nervous.

He met and held her gaze with one that said he disagreed. She narrowed her eyes, refusing to back down. She couldn’t. She truly hadn’t done anything wrong. Had she?

His eyes narrowed to mirror hers then suddenly the skin where his dimple would appear if he smiled started quivering, as if it was going to give way and turn into a smile at any moment. Molly breathed a sigh of relief. She just might be off the hook.

“Look Molly, really, I know you haven’t meant any harm. I know you think you’re helping me, and you’re certainly helping Mule Hollow. There is no denying that it’s been put on the map through your articles. But I’m done. I want out. Do you understand?” He dropped his chin to his chest then looked straight at her.

Molly’s throat went dry and she tried to swallow the lump that had lodged there. The acid in her stomach attacked the inner walls as she tried to digest Bob’s words.

No way around it. Her boat had a hole in it.

Bob engaged the gears and guided the truck back onto the road. When he started whistling softly to himself, Molly blinked and started fidgeting with a loose thread on the seam of her jeans. That was Bob. The good-hearted guy who was going to make some lucky woman a wonderful husband was back to being himself again. Just like that, he’d forgiven her for what he thought was an intrusion on his life.

Just like that, he thought all was well, everything fixed.

Molly struggled to breathe, watching the brightly colored town appear on the horizon. She didn’t feel the jolt of happiness she normally felt upon seeing it set there welcoming her. As brightly variegated as a box of crayons, just as Lacy had intended when she talked the town into painting the dull, dry, clapboard buildings, it should have brought a smile to Molly’s lips.

Not today.

Her thoughts were riveted to the article she’d submitted earlier in the week.

The one her editor had requested because of overwhelming reader interest….

The one that hit the streets tomorrow.

The one that was too late to retract.

The one she’d meant for good…really.




Chapter Two


The aroma of strong coffee, thick bacon and Sam’s unbelievably seasoned eggs were enough to make a good cowboy buckle with hunger. What man would miss home cooking when he could get something this fantastic by just walking in the door of Sam’s?

Call him crazy, but Bob could. Not that he’d ever had that much home cooking…but he missed it. Longed for it.

It was a simple fact that no matter how much he enjoyed the food and company at Sam’s, Bob wanted more. He wanted a home, a family. He’d wanted it all his life. Being raised in a boarding school did that to a guy. He pushed aside the old anger at his dad for choosing his career in journalism over him. But even though he’d forgiven his father, it hadn’t changed the fact that he longed for the family bond he’d never had. Having lost his mom at an early age, he had fond memories of how life had been before her death. He wanted a wife who could bring the same feeling of security to his life. That same sense of love and belonging.

After years of planning, he’d decided it was time he put his faith into action and show the Lord he believed He was going to send him the perfect wife. The wife He’d prepared for him from the beginning of time.

And so he’d taken the step forward and bought his ranch just a month earlier. It had been a big step for him to change the timetable on his long-term goals. His life had been going pretty close to the target he’d set for himself back when he’d quit the pro bull-riding circuit and taken the job working for Clint. But he’d realized in all of his goal setting he hadn’t left any room for faith in the plans he’d made. It had been an eye-opener when the realization hit him.

Not that he didn’t still believe goal setting was imperative for a man who wanted to be a good provider for his family. But after watching his buddies fall in love and get married when they’d least expected it—and be so happy as a result—he’d realized that sometimes a man had to follow a path that didn’t have a structure. Or at least not an earthly structure. So he’d changed course.

Now, as he took a seat at Sam’s counter, Bob felt a sense of anticipation like he’d never experienced before. Something was about to happen that was going to change his life. He could practically feel God smiling at him.

Of course the feeling could simply and logically be that he’d dodged a bullet yesterday when Molly hadn’t been maimed or killed by Sylvester.

Ever since he’d dropped her at her apartment yesterday, she’d been stuck in his brain. He’d let her off easy, despite the fact she’d been a thorn in his side for weeks.

Ever since the Cassie incident, there had been an ongoing discussion among several of the cowboys about Molly’s articles. It galled him that they thought he was dim-witted for even thinking she should stop writing them. She was helping, they all insisted. Yeah right, helping herself into a highly visible reporting job. He’d been through it all before with his dad. Still, just as long as she left him out of it he didn’t care what she did.

That was his reasoning behind letting her off easy yesterday. Why get an ulcer over something that was old news?

He’d simply asked her to omit him from future articles. So that was that. He was done. Life could resume on an even note. Molly could do her thing and he could do his. There would no longer be any connection between them, which was a good thing.

So everything should be fine…right? His mind clicked to something about the way Molly had acted. An uneasy feeling settled over him as he replayed the trip into town. She’d been quiet. Real quiet. As in she hadn’t said anything except a mumbled thank-you when she practically dove out of his truck at her place….

Sam burst through the kitchen’s double doors, drawing his mind back from the sudden nagging sense of discontent. “Mornin’, Goodlooking,” Sam chirped.

Bob eyed the little man. “What’d you say?”

Flashing an unusually bright grin, Sam set a coffee mug in front of him and poured his stout black brew into it. “Now don’t go bein’ all shy, you handsome hunk of a man,” he drawled.

Lately everyone had noticed Sam had been slightly distracted and grumpy. But this was just plain abnormal. Bob was about to ask if his longtime friend was feeling okay but the Diner’s door swung open and the morning crowd of hungry cowboys stampeded inside. His friend and ex-boss, rancher Clint Matlock, was in the lead.

“Well hello, Bob.” Clint lifted an eyebrow and punctuated the word Bob. Another abnormality for the morning.

“Hey, handsome!” someone called.

“Honey-doll, could I have a date? Purdy please,” came another squeal.

Bob swiveled in his seat toward them as more catcalls followed. His heart sank. One of the cowboys was grinning at him like a lovesick cow batting his eyes, while another slid across the floor on one knee and grabbed his hand. Bob yanked free before the cowpoke’s puckered lips could plant a fake kiss on it.

“Hey! Watch out!” He glared at them with a withering sense of dread. This was not good. Not good at all.

Bob groaned, watching in dismay as they collapsed with laughter and fell over on each other in total glee. At his expense. Cowboys picked on each other for one reason and one reason only. To rub something in. But what? Bob swung back to his coffee, racking his brain. What had he done to bring on this kind of ribbing?

Until someone let him in on the joke he’d ignore them. Grabbing his coffee, he took a drink as if he couldn’t hear the laughing and backslapping going on behind him.

His coffee was in midair when Clint slid the morning’s paper across the counter in front of him.

The black-and-white pages were folded neatly to Molly’s column, About Town in Mule Hollow. In bold black letters the headline read: He’s The One You Need.

Bob choked on his coffee when his name jumped off the page at him. Everything going on around him faded away as he read the words. Suddenly the burning sensation in the pit of his stomach had nothing to do with hot coffee.

“I guess you didn’t read the paper this morning,” Clint drawled.

Bob met his friend’s gaze, the corners of his lips twitching with barely contained laughter.

“She didn’t…” was all Bob could manage, as his stomach knotted with fury.

Clint placed a hand on his shoulder. “Oh yeah, I’m afraid that’s exactly what she did. Handsome.”

“He’s The One You Need—not just any cowboy, handsome Bob Jacobs has a heart of gold and would make any woman an excellent husband. He’s so sure that God is going to send the right woman his way that he’s stepping out on faith….”

With mounting dread Molly watched Lacy’s expression as she read the column out loud. The unease that had clung to her all night squeezed tighter around her middle as she heard the lines she’d written aloud. If only she’d known how Bob felt last week. Instead of yesterday. If only…

She and Lacy were sitting in the reception chairs at the front of Lacy’s salon, Heavenly Inspirations, and oh how Molly wished she’d have an inspiration herself. She wished she’d had a heavenly intervention before she’d ever written the article that was about to make waves between her and Bob.

Because of nightmares, she’d hardly slept a wink last night before she’d finally risen early, called Lacy at home and asked her to meet her down at the shop. Preferably before her Saturday-morning appointments started arriving. Knowing that Saturdays were the day when the majority of cowboys came in for cuts, Molly wanted to be in and out before any of them saw her. Cowboys were early risers and by daylight they’d all have had their morning coffee and read the paper. And after having just reread it herself, in the light of what Bob had dictated to her yesterday, things were about to get tense.

Normally her column was simply her somewhat witty dialogue on the goings-on of the endearing town and all of its residents—the cowboy population most specifically. But this was different. This write-up focused totally on Bob. By reader demand! She had to remember that part.

“Does Bob know you did this?” Lacy asked, rolling up the paper and swatting the table with it, grinning. She was actually excited! An excited Lacy Matlock meant proceed with caution, there were sure to be curves ahead.

Molly hadn’t expected Lacy’s excitement. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No. Not yet.”

“Oh boy.”

That didn’t sound encouraging. Molly nervously rolled her pencil on the tabletop with her pointer finger, trying not to grab it and run. “He said he wanted a wife. He said it in the diner for anybody to hear.” Why was she defending herself? What good would it do? “So I felt obliged to help,” she tagged on the end, imploring Lacy to reassure her that what she’d done was perfectly natural and acceptable.

Not, Lacy’s laugh said instead. Her blond hair jiggled she laughed so hard.

Molly straightened in her chair and felt herself grow pink. “Lacy, it’s not that bad. C’mon.”

Lacy waved her hands in front of her face as she struggled to gain control of her laughter. “Molly, Molly, Molly. Don’t kid yourself. This article is fantastic. If I wasn’t already married and living in Mule Hollow with my very own dreamboat, I’d have packed my bags and headed this way the second I finished reading this. Who could resist Bob? I mean, you make him sound like the best thing since…since chocolate! That man’s going to be dodging women left and right.”

Molly tugged at her ear and chewed on the pencil eraser then yanked it out of her mouth when part of it crumbled on her tongue. “Do you think it will be that bad?” Jumping up she grabbed a tissue from the manicure table and spit the bitter eraser into it.

Lacy rolled her eyes and drummed her pink fingernails on the table, a trait of hers that was sure to leave lasting impressions on all hard surfaces she encountered. Between her eraser spitting and Lacy’s incessant tapping, they had a regular concerto going on, a musical of impending doom.

“Molly, your very words are…” She paused, snapped the paper open and cleared her throat obnoxiously. “‘Bob, with his to-die-for dimples, thoughtful wholesomeness, mixed with just the right amount of charm, might be enough to make this Mule Hollow lonesome cowboy the perfect husband, but it’s his faith in the Lord that sets him ahead of the game.’” She pinned Molly with eyes as bright as topaz. “The women are coming, girl. Believe it. Just a few mentions of him in your columns were enough to bring Cassie out here to try and marry the guy. Or had you forgotten?”

Fat chance. Molly’s stomach churned, and her hand drifted to toy with the simple gold chain she wore around her neck. “I’ll admit I did get a little carried away. I might have gone a bit overboard.”

“No! Are you kidding? It’s all true,” Lacy exclaimed. “Every last word. But girlfriend, my question to you is, if you noticed all of that, why are you advertising him? Why aren’t you signing up for the position as Mrs. Bob Jacobs?”

Molly took a step back and shook her head vigorously. “Nope. Don’t go there. You know good and well, Lacy, that I didn’t come here to marry.”

Lacy dropped her jaw a notch. “I know you are just like I was. You came for your career, and now you are doing one humdinger of a job getting the word out about the single cowboys here just yearning for true love. God’s given you a path and, honey, you are just blazing down it full speed ahead. But…and I mean this with all the love of a good friend, you not marrying—well that’s a bunch of hogwash, as Esther Mae would say.”

“Hey, that isn’t very nice.”

Lacy popped up, waving her arms wide. “You love it here Molly. You might be dreaming that writing for some fancy newspaper in some giant city is where you want to be, or crawling through some jungle, but I can see in your heart that Mule Hollow is in your blood now. Maybe when you first came here you thought you wanted to be somewhere more exotic, but after a few months here you’re now one of us. All you have to do is admit it.”

Molly pushed away the voice in her head that wanted to agree with Lacy, the part of her that longed to relax and put her roots deep in the Texas soil that surrounded this minuscule tad of a town. But she couldn’t.

She’d had a plan, a dream, for most of her life. You didn’t just chuck a lifetime dream out the window when it was finally within your grasp.

Besides, Bob Jacobs might be the best-looking man she’d ever seen and her heart might go pitter-patter every time he stepped near, but that didn’t mean anything other than the fact that she knew how to appreciate a good man when she saw one. And that was that.

She didn’t tell Lacy any of the last thought, though. She wasn’t insane. Instead, she argued the facts. “Lacy, forget me and Bob. Our life goals are aeon’s apart. Bob wants a Leave It To Beaver June Cleaver type, or a Martha Stewart—minus the criminal record—wannabe. Ha! Those icons would be the last two people on earth I would ever be confused with. Nor do I have any desire to emulate them.” Well, that wasn’t exactly the truth…it wasn’t that she didn’t have hopes of conquering the kitchen—she did. But so far her Tuesday night cooking classes hadn’t turned out so well. She was actually dangerous in the kitchen.

But even if she were to master cooking beyond her trademark lasagna with canned sauce, never, ever would there be hope for her to become a domesticated diva. “I need to go, Lace. I’m supposed to meet with Bob’s insurance agent down at Prudy’s place first thing this morning. Speaking of which, have you seen my car?”

“Have I seen it! Girl, Norma Sue came hurling herself into the diner last night talking about how terrible Sylvester had destroyed it. I’m telling you, Molly, Clint said it was only by the grace of God that you weren’t hurt. Thank goodness Bob showed up when he did. That bull is a maniac when he’s been away from his pasture for a while.”

“Then why do they keep him around?”

“Because he’s a champion. And he only gets crazy at certain times. Clint says Bob has made a mint off that bull. Believe me, him escaping from his pasture was more of a mistake than just the fact that he could have killed you. People pay really good money for Sylvester’s offspring. Clint said the first and best investment Bob made was Sylvester. The bull financed his new ranch and enabled him to buy the other bulls that he owns.”

“Are you serious?”

“Oh yeah. Clint said buying that particular bull was an act of genius on Bob’s part. He’s just a little high-strung.”

“Mean is more like it,” Molly grumbled as she said goodbye, poked her pencil behind her ear, slung her backpack to her shoulder and headed toward her car—or what was left of her car.

It was a hard walk. She had to force every step. Because of that bull she’d had nightmares. The last place she wanted to go was to see the destroyed car that could very well have been the end for her. Sure, while it was going on she’d been able to disconnect herself from the danger. She’d actually taken pictures of Bob as he raced to save her life! How crazy was that? Who did something like that?

The man must think her an absolute loony tune. But at the moment, she was thinking the same thing about him. Here she was trying to help him find a wife and he had this bull problem. And it wasn’t anything to pooh-pooh away. Didn’t he understand, great investment or not, if that crazy bull killed someone, he was going to have a hard time finding a wife from behind bars?

Rounding the corner of Prudy’s Garage, she came face-to-face with her mangled car, and her knees almost buckled at the sight of it. Her mouth went dry and her palms grew damp—it was as if she were back in that moment. She could feel the car shaking as Sylvester slammed into it. She could see the solid wall of pure bull muscle bunching and rippling. Feel the car tilt and start to roll. She winced. The toast she’d forced down for breakfast suddenly threatened to revolt and, covering her mouth with her trembling hand, she whirled away. On shaking legs, she stumbled back to the street, praying for the Lord to help her keep her breakfast down.



If the diner had been a fiasco, the feed store was a circus. Applegate Thornton and Stanley Orr were hunkered over their endless game of checkers, a mixture of the Odd Couple, Grumpy Old Men and Mayberry. The two old-timers, who normally played checkers down at Sam’s Diner every morning at daylight had recently moved their game to the feed store. It had been a surprise to everyone. Applegate, Stanley and Sam went way back with one another and now to have this rift between them was just plain confusing. Something had happened two weeks ago and no one had been able to figure it out. Or get any of them to talk about it. To Pete’s sorrow, they still weren’t on speaking terms with their old buddy Sam, a fact they made everyone aware of on a regular basis because, though hard to believe they could get any grumpier, they were like grumpy old men on spinach.

However, they were still in touch with their newspaper. Something Bob found out the instant he stepped through the door to purchase feed.

“Bob,” Applegate shouted. As usual, his hearing aid was off. “Says here you’re out to get married. Who’s the woman?”

“Come on, Bob,” Stanley added when Bob didn’t respond. “It’s all right there in the paper. Next thang ya know one of them gossip magazines is gonna have Bob’s picture plastered across it. Like a hunk of the month or somp-thin.”

Bob spun toward the two men. “Applegate, my picture isn’t going to be in any kind of magazine. This’ll be old news tomorrow.” If he could only be so lucky.

“I don’t know about that, son,” Stanley said, scratching his bushy eyebrow, his wrinkled face drooping with a doubtful expression. “My cousin’s son’s barber’s grandson’s friend had himself a little sit-chi-ation involving a dead body in his backyard and before you could blink, it was on the cover of the Inquirer. Right smack on the front. You remember that, App?”

“Huh?” Applegate shouted. “I thought that was yer sister’n-law’s, brother’s, ex-stepmother’n-laws father?”

“Hey, guys,” Bob held out his hands to halt the mind-spinning deluge, holding on to his temper as best he could. This was getting more ridiculous by the second. “I won’t be on the cover of any magazine. Thankfully I don’t have the same connections your friend had.”

Stanley shot him a glare of disbelief. “He wasn’t my friend! The twerp ended up going to prison. Turned out he killed the feller. Them magazines, they get it right ever once in a while—though I ain’t of the mind that Elvis is alive. That one I’ll have to see for myself.”

“You say Elvis is alive?” Applegate asked, having totally misunderstood what was being said. “Why, that’s about the all-fired most foolish—”

Pete showed up with Bob’s order on the dolly, and he didn’t slow down as he wheeled it outside. Bob wasted no time following.

“I’m telling you, Bob, if those two don’t get over this feud they have going on with Sam, I’m going to go mad! If it’s not one thing it’s another. I’ve about had all the—well, you don’t need to hear about my problems. I read the paper, too, and it looks like you have enough on your plate.”

Bob started stacking the heavy bags onto his truck. “I feel for you, Pete. At least I can load this up and hop in my truck and go home. If you don’t see me for a month or so you know where to find me.”

Pete, a large man, dusted his hands on the front of his well filled-shirt. “You really fixin’ to hole up at your place for that long?”

“I wish. If I could I would. Believe me, there’s plenty to keep me busy, the place was pretty run-down when I bought it. So I imagine I’ll be back and forth.” He paused and glanced at Pete. “Truth is, I’m about ready to commit a murder myself. This is just not right, Pete. You should have seen the fellas down at Sam’s. As long as I’m around, I’ll never live this down. I mean, how could she have said all that, that flowery stuff? The woman is trying to make a name for herself writing about all us cowboys and she’s clueless about how the boys take stuff like that and run with it.”

“Oh son, I feel your pain,” Pete laughed, slapped him on the shoulder then headed back inside to his own problems. Bob slammed his tailgate shut and paused to take a calming breath. That’s when he saw her. She was coming around the edge of Prudy’s Garage, greener than the snake she was.

Without another thought, he struck out down the middle of Main Street, his spurs clinking with every step.

It was time for a showdown.




Chapter Three


The familiar sound of clinking spurs drew Molly’s attention away from almost upchucking in the middle of Mule Hollow’s Main Street. The sight of mild-mannered Bob storming toward her sent a shiver down her spine.

The blaze in his eyes meant only one thing.

He’d read the article.

Retraction. There was nothing mild mannered about the man storming toward her.

She swallowed hard, sucking in a calming breath. It was time to face the music.

Bob halted three feet in front of her, legs spread shoulder-width apart and planted his hands on his narrow hips. If he’d been wearing a Western duster, she could envision him sliding the coat back behind the gun holster, his fingertips wiggling just above the pearly-white pistol, itching to draw and shoot.

Get a grip, Molly.

“H-hello, Bob.” She lifted her chin, trying not to look as queasy as she felt.

He lifted his chin in acknowledgment, or challenge, his eyes boring into hers. The man did have the nicest square chin and the most stunning eyes…angry eyes at the moment, but gorgeous. And why was she thinking about them, when he was obviously thinking about wringing her neck? “I, well I was just looking at my car. It’s a mess.” She laughed nervously as he raised an eyebrow. “Okay, okay.” She raked a trembling hand through her ponytail. “I see you’ve read the article. I’m sorry. I should have asked. I should have made certain that something like that, I mean, an entire article about you should have had your okay on it.”

He nodded. That’s all. Just a curt nod and nothing. Except that his eyes kind of glinted in the morning sunlight like a ping. An “and you call yourself a reporter” kind of ping.

“But,” she rattled on, “you said it and, and well, my editor had asked me to do an article that focused solely on you.” He lifted his eyebrow and guilt washed over her but she stumbled on. “It’s what a poll of the female readers said they wanted. I started not to do it. Really, but then I overheard you talking to Clint. I mean, really, there I was sitting in Sam’s minding my own business and you just happened to be sitting in the booth right behind me, talking about wanting a wife.” She was rambling. There was nothing pretty about rambling, but how else to tell the tale? She just hoped he’d understand. She smiled nervously.

He wasn’t smiling, so her smile melted like a deflating balloon into a pathetic shriveled pucker. “And well, I think you get the rest of the idea. It was just too coincidental to pass up. How was I to know you were about to tell me not to talk about you at all in my articles? I’m sorry. It was already on the presses,” she finished weakly.

Even though she knew she looked as if she’d just eaten a lemon, still he said nothing, just looked at her. Looked at her, and she felt even worse than she’d felt….

“All right, already, would you say something!”

“Something.”

Oh! Molly felt her eyes go squinty of their own accord. So now he wanted to be cute! Ooh…she felt like the low of the low and he wanted to be cute! Fumes were wafting from her ears, she could feel them. She hoped he could see them.

“Look Molly, I think you’ve learned your lesson.”

Learned my lesson! And she had tried to apologize to the man! She crossed her arms and glared at the rude cowboy.

“I know I’ve learned mine,” he continued smoothly.

Her mouth fell open and a huff escaped before she could snatch it back.

He lifted an eyebrow. “I learned, if you’re anywhere in the room I’ll keep my mouth shut. It really wasn’t your fault. I mean, look at you. You have a pencil stuck behind your ear and a camera strapped around your neck. And I bet inside that backpack there’s a couple of notepads crammed full of ideas you’ve gotten between now and the time you woke up this morning. Hey, you may even have your laptop in there. I mean you wouldn’t want to go off without your precious tools.”

Molly glowered more. He thought he knew her so well.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he said, tipping his Stetson back a bit with his thumb. “No.”

He smiled and her heart did a weird little sputter. His smile bloomed, showing his dimples, and his midnight-blue eyes flared. “I am right, aren’t I? How many story ideas have you had since you woke up? Let’s see, you told me once that you woke up at five every morning because you were the most creative at that hour, and now it’s nine. So you’ve had a few hours of free time…how about five ideas?”

Molly swung away from him. Here she’d thought he was a nice cowboy. He was just a smart aleck. It was a good thing she didn’t have a stick, or she would have whacked him with it! Without a backward glance, she strode down the street toward her apartment. Ooh! If she had a car she’d have made an explosive exit and driven away, leaving the maddening man in her dust. Choking.

“So how close am I?” he asked beside her ear, his warm breath feathering along her neck.

She jumped and swatted at him with alternating hands. How dare he follow her that close. She could feel him smiling. Gloating.

He stepped up beside her. She glanced mutinously at him, increasing her pace. A lot of good it did her—his legs were longer than hers. She paused—where had she been going? Oh yes, her apartment. Focusing, she started walking again. Faster. She could feel her thick ponytail swinging back and forth with every step she took.

“Come on, Molly, let me see the notepads. You’ve been up writing away as fast as your little fingers can fly. Who’re you picking on this week?”

Molly slammed to a halt and twisted to face him. Her ponytail slapped her in the face. “Okay!” She pushed strands of hair off her nose so he could see that she was glaring at him. “Okay! You’ve had your fun. You’ve made your point. Now go. Go away. Disappear. Shoo.”

He was standing, tall and lean. His powerful shoulders were squared and his handsome head tilted just enough to show off his triumphant grin and those dangerous dimples. Those mind-boggling dimples that made him look like country star Joe Nichols’s long-lost twin especially when mixed with his twinkling eyes. It made Molly want to…well, she wanted to—

He reached and took the pencil from behind her ear. “Don’t write another word about me.” Sliding her pencil behind his perfect ear, he spun on his heel and walked away. Strolled away down Main Street with a clink and a swagger.

And her pencil.

Molly’s hands were fisted tightly—the man was not the person she’d thought he was. Nope. There wasn’t a nice bone in his strong, lean body.



Bob rubbed his new pup’s tummy, watching as the little fella grinned up at him with no worries in the world. He was a cute little border collie that Bob had been waiting to pick up from its owner for the past six weeks. After having his little run-in with Molly he’d swung by for John Boy.

Patting the pup’s rump, Bob sent him scampering to play with a clump of long grass as he went back to work. Tugging his gloves back on, he glared up at the blaring sun and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his forearm. He’d been working like a maniac to strengthen the ancient barn that had seemed on its last legs when he bought the place. Bob wanted to make it hang in a while longer. So he was repairing it, using it to clear out his frustrations.

J.P. had offered to help him; Bob had declined. He’d needed the physical exertion. Needed time to think about what had happened that morning.

He’d been pretty hard on Molly.

He’d told himself she deserved his sarcasm, but he wasn’t sure he hadn’t gone too far. There was a fine line between anger and downright meanness. The truth was, he’d acted like a spoiled bully.

Because of it, here he was thinking of skipping church. The thought made him feel worse. But he wasn’t ready to face Molly or the Lord. Like you can hide from Him.

Of course he wasn’t fooling himself. He could feel the Lord watching him, feel that gentle whisper on the wind. Nope, there was no getting away from Him.

But Molly.

Well, that was a different story. When a guy sang in the choir like he did, there was no way to escape people. The congregation stared up at the choir members as if they were an alien species or something. Not everyone, but half of them. Applegate Thornton’s dour face came to mind, making him cringe.

But aside from that, he knew Molly would try her best to ignore him, and he would try his best to ignore her. But their efforts would be in vain, because in the long run sometime during the service they would lock eyes and he would feel compelled to apologize.

And frankly, he wasn’t ready.

He’d let her off easy before. Not this time.

Hoisting a one-by-six in place, he pulled his hammer from his tool belt, a nail from between his lips and in two steady swings drilled the nail into the board. He’d been right! Despite feeling bad about the bull attack he’d had completely legitimate reasons to be angry at Molly.

She’d been out of line. “You’re doggone right she’d been out of line. Way out,” he said to the wind.

Still. There was the part of him that had come out a little harder than he’d planned. He wasn’t completely comfortable about that.

And then there was that other thing—the part of him that kept thinking about how sweet she looked standing there all decked out in her reporter paraphernalia. Despite every reason he had to be turned off by that part of her, he always seemed to conjure up pictures of her looking cute and sassy with the chewed-up, pink-tipped pencil sticking out from behind her ear. But that wasn’t what was bothering him right now, either. Something had been wrong with her when he’d first glimpsed her coming around the corner of Prudy’s Garage. She’d looked sick.

She’d looked shaken. She’d looked green.

And he’d not cared in the least.

Now that bothered him. He’d wanted to make her feel as bad as he could so he’d worked on her guilt and ground it in. He had ignored the fact that the woman had been through a very harrowing experience. A bull the size of Sylvester was a terrifying sight from afar. Up close and personal, out-of-his-head angry like he’d been, Sylvester could tear through a person and never stop. As a rodeo bullfighter, Bob had seen plenty of bull riders mangled by the animals—he’d been there a time or two himself. In those situations the bulls were only doing their jobs. Bull riders wanted a good ride. A mean ride. The better the bucking, the higher the score.

What had Molly been thinking? She could have lost her life all for a picture of his house. He knew facing a mountain of solid bull muscle just by crossing a cattle guard wouldn’t have been a priority on her list of things to do for the day. Surely she’d seen the big brute? Who could miss two thousand pounds of bull out in broad daylight? Or maybe Sylvester had been standing over the hill where she couldn’t see him.

He wondered if she was having nightmares. Though she’d seemed fine on the ride into town after he’d rescued her, he wondered. Sometimes adrenaline got a person through a close call. Lowering his hammer, he let his gaze wonder out across his pastureland.

A Christian man, no, any kind of man worth his salt, Christian or not, would step up and see if she was okay.

Especially the man who knew he had a bull with problems.



Before church on Sunday morning Molly was sitting in her apartment lost in thought.

After her maddening encounter with Bob the brute on Saturday, she’d met with his insurance adjuster alone. He had given her an assessment of the damage to her poor darling car. Her little Bug had taken a beating from that bull-headed bull on the hood and both side panels. The adjuster had assured her the news was good, that Sylvester’s damage was actually minimal. Some new doors, a little bodywork, a new paint job and her car would be as good as new.

Easy for him to say. New paint jobs were never as good as the factory. Everybody knew that, but it served her right for trespassing. What had she been thinking?

About a story.

Everything in her life was about a story. It was true, but she liked it that way. Still, it seemed a sad fact that she’d stood in the middle of the street taking pictures of her car as it was being towed away that day. But the photos were for “just in case.” Just in case she got over her fright and an idea for a story should arise from this incident. That was the way she was wired. Many would argue that her wires were really messed up.

Who was she kidding? She felt no real desire to look for an article angle. Looking at the car had brought all the trauma of the experience back to her. She sucked in a long breath and forced the thoughts away. She refused to think any more about the bull attack. She couldn’t. She had just a few days left to get her column in for the week, not to mention the magazine articles that loomed in a consecutive wave of deadlines. She’d scrapped the follow-up on Bob and now she had nothing.

Nothing.

For a girl with endless ideas, the fact that she had no desire to write was unbelievable. She always wrote, had always created several ideas at once.

Specifically, she’d been writing columns about Mule Hollow for almost a year. Now suddenly for the first time in her life she was drawing blanks.

She hadn’t had an idea since the attack on Friday—the day Bob told her to stop writing about him.

For the past two mornings, as she’d done most mornings since her arrival in Mule Hollow, she’d risen at five o’clock, dressed quickly, strapped on her backpack and jogged to the edge of town. She’d taken the well-worn path she’d created across the open field where town gatherings were held, past the grove of mesquite trees and finally stopping at her special spot—a flat rock on the top of a knoll overlooking a sweeping valley. There she’d sit. She loved watching the sunrise, bringing with it inspirations—the sparks that ignited her creative mind.

Until now.

Until she’d been given the order to halt all tales of Bob.

She hadn’t completely realized exactly how much her column about Mule Hollow had truly revolved around him.

Why was that?

This morning, after not sleeping most of the night, she had sat on the floor in the middle of her apartment surrounded by weeks and months of copies of her column. And lo and behold, to her surprise, the maddening man had been right.

Completely, unexplainably right.

He had been in the papers more than the President!




Chapter Four


Monday morning came and Molly remained distracted and disgruntled, still drawing blanks. Even at church the day before she’d been in a fog, unable to focus on the service. Especially when there was a noticeable vacant spot in the choir where Bob usually sang. The man had a voice like Tim McGraw and he used it for the Lord. Wow! Just one more big check mark for why he was such a great guy. But it still didn’t explain why he’d appeared in her articles so much. There was, after all, an entire town full of great guys sitting in the church sanctuary. True their voices weren’t as good as Bob’s, but they were nice guys looking for love. So why hadn’t she plastered their names all over her articles as much as she’d plastered Bob’s?

Still boggled in the brain and running late on her routine, she crossed the street and walked over to the tiny Mule Hollow convention center to see if she needed to lend a hand before finding somewhere to settle and try to write. The center was really two older buildings on Main Street that the town had renovated into one large space. By city standards it was nothing more than a big room. For Mule Hollow, it was a convention center. Today they were decorating for Dottie Hart and Sheriff Brady’s bridal shower on Friday. The wedding was less than two weeks away, and as far as the two of them were concerned, that was two weeks too long.

An inspiring story, Molly was pleased to have had a hand in the match. It was her articles that basically inspired Cassie to start hitchhiking her way to Mule Hollow, which led Dottie to give her a lift, which brought both of them to town. Dottie had met Sheriff Brady and the rest was history. The only bad part for Molly was that Cassie had followed Bob around. Followed, not stalked as Bob had called it. And though things hadn’t worked out between them, Bob had befriended the young girl and now there were no hard feelings. At least not between Bob and Cassie. Obviously, the same didn’t go for her and Bob.

Still, she didn’t quite get it. He was happy for Brady and Dottie, he was friends with Cassie. But he was angry with her for writing the articles that were responsible for the wonderfully romantic web that God had used to get them all together.

True she’d gone overboard expounding on Bob’s worthiness as a potential husband, but she’d done a good thing for everyone else.

She was sorry she’d given him more fame than he wanted. But he would live. And maybe God would use it for good. If she focused on the positive aspects of what she’d done, then maybe she could get past this momentary stumble her creative mind was going through.

Taking time out this morning from her usual routine to help decorate for the shower would be a good way to relieve the stress that was blocking her flow. It could also provide fodder for the story she would write about the upcoming wedding. Readers were eating up the happily-ever-after wedding stories.

“Molly,” Lacy sang from her perch on the top of a twelve-foot ladder. “Just the woman I need. Sheri just jogged over and told me I have a walk-in waiting on me for a color repair. Can you finish tacking these streamers up? As soon as I fix whatever this woman has done to her hair I’ll be back. Although Sheri said this was a job for a magician not a beautician so it may take a while.”

“And who says you aren’t a magician?” Esther Mae called out from her chair in the center of the room.

“Yeah,” added Norma Sue with a snort. “Anybody who saw Esther Mae’s red triple decker before you got a hold of her would know you’ve got some great tricks up those sleeves of yours.”

Esther Mae harrumphed and Norma Sue gave her an innocent look. “Hey, I’m still waiting for it to go poof and turn back into the pumpkin that it was.”

Lacy laughed and climbed down off the ladder. Spinning around toward the two older friends, she plopped her hands on her hips. “You two better straighten up and be nice to each other or I might just have to get my razor hold of y’all.”

“Hey,” Esther Mae snapped, her eyes growing wide. “How do you think I would look with one of those spunky short cuts? You know where my hair sticks up on top of my head—”

“Lacy,” Norma Sue broke in. “Don’t listen to her. Mule Hollow doesn’t need to give the wrong impression.”

“And just what does that mean?” Esther Mae gasped indignantly.

Norma Sue dropped her jaw. “You’d look like a redheaded troll! That’s what.”

Esther Mae blew out a short breath. “Pooh. I would be spunky and cute. Just like my personality.”

Lacy shot a wink Molly’s way. “You are right about the personality, Esther dear. But I think maybe we’d have to have a serious consult before I punked out your hair. Okay, I gotta go.”

Molly watched Lacy jog toward the door, chuckling.

“What do I need to do?” she called after her, not at all sure about attempting decorating without a whole lot of instruction.

“Oh!” Lacy spun at the door. “As Esther Mae and Norma Sue get those decorations done, all you have to do is string them like I did these.” She pointed to the ceiling where she’d been draping the lights and ribbons Norma Sue and Esther Mae were braiding together. “Don’t look so doubtful, Molly. You can do this. The ties are on top of the ladder. As soon as I can, I’ll be back. If I’m not back before you get finished, you’ll know either I’ve got a really, really bad disaster on my hands or I’m getting to tell whomever is over there waiting on me about the Lord!”

She grinned, her eyes sparking with excitement. Everyone knew that witnessing for the Lord was the reason Lacy woke up every day. Molly had experienced it firsthand in the middle of a highlight.

Taking in Lacy’s beautiful work, Molly realized there was no way her streamers were going to remotely resemble the artfully draping decorations her friend had strung. Every dip was perfectly matched, no bulges, no kinks. Molly plastered on a smile and thought positive. “Sure, I can handle this, Lacy. You go do that thing you do.”

“Catch ya later,” Lacy sang. “’Bye, Norma Sue and Esther Mae. Try to be good, why don’t ya.”

“Hey, what fun would that be?” Norma Sue laughed, studying her work. “Don’t you agree, Molly?”

“Oh yeah. Sure thing.” She raised an eyebrow at the two spicy women. Picking up a strand Lacy had already strung across the floor, she climbed the ladder, listening to the two friends chatter on, returning to their previous banter without skipping a beat.

“What would possess you to think about cutting your hair like that?” Norma Sue asked.

Esther Mae gave an exasperated sigh. “I feel fat. I thought maybe a shorter cut might help.”

“Esther, it doesn’t work that way!”

“Well, something has to give. I tell you I can’t fit into my dress,” she wailed. “The wedding’s two weeks away and I’m as bloated as a cow. I think Sam gave me the wrong prescription. I’ve been taking my new derivatives and all they’re doing is sending me trotting—”

“Pulleeze!” Norma’s hand shot up. “Skip the trotting part. And the word is diuretics! And why are you blaming Sam?”

Esther harrumphed. “The sign does read Sam’s Diner and Pharmacy. And, he has been acting weird lately is all I’m saying. He’s even being rude. And you know Sam—he might be grumpy sometimes but not rude and distracted. I’m telling you something’s up.”

“Maybe he’s just being cranky for no reason—it happens sometimes. Or maybe he isn’t getting enough sleep,” Molly offered.

“Well, he’s been that way for days—I think he’s thinking about Adela. I think something is wrong. Haven’t you noticed the food at the diner hasn’t been up to snuff lately?

Norma Sue nodded and stopped braiding. “Now that you mention it, Adela has been extra quiet lately.”

Molly thought about that. Everyone could tell there was something special between Adela and Sam. But there seemed to be an invisible line drawn between them. They always sat beside each other at church, Sam making certain Miss Adela was comfortable after she came down from playing the piano, fussing over her sweater when it fell off her shoulders as she sat down. It was the sweetest thing Molly had ever seen. It was one of the things that made Molly have some hope about—well, she wasn’t going to think about that right now. She had too many other things pressing to be worried about why Sam wouldn’t ask Adela to marry him.

“Maybe we need to do something,” Esther Mae snapped, sitting up straighter and drawing Molly back to their conversation.

“Oh no, you don’t.”

“Norma Sue, you know those two are in love. They need our help. Tell her Molly. Tell her, it’s our duty to make sure Adela and Sam see the writing on the wall.”

“But, I—” Molly felt trapped as she stared at the wall and willed herself to be invisible. She was already in enough trouble for messing with Bob’s life. She didn’t want Sam and Adela mad at her, too. They seemed to have things under control.

“Yeah, Molly,” Norma Sue chimed in. “Maybe Esther Mae has a point.”

“I…well.” Molly scrambled down the ladder and grabbed her backpack from where she’d set it by the door. “Look. I just remembered something I forgot to do. Y’all can figure this out on your own. Do whatever you feel you need to do.”

Feeling guilty about abandoning the job, she backed out the door and closed it before she could hear their startled replies. She was still too shaken up over Bob being so put out with her. She wasn’t cut out for all this matchmaking any more than she was cut out to be a decorator.

She was a reporter. She was supposed to stand back and record what was going on around her. To document it in a professional, even creative way was something she strove hard to do. But she’d never experienced anyone being upset with her work, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Not sure at all.

As a matter of fact, Bob’s displeasure had brought up a whole cache of hidden questions she didn’t want to think about right now.

She needed to write.

She needed to write and not think about anything other than the words on the paper.

And that pretty much summed up how she’d always looked at life. Until lately, when the words refused to flow.



It was nearly eleven o’clock as Molly hoisted her backpack to her shoulder and started to cross Main Street. She paused, thinking about poor unsuspecting Sam and Adela. Norma Sue and Esther Mae’s snooping might be just what they needed to take that next step toward the altar—it had worked many times before. But Molly had never actually had a hands-on experience in matchmaking. Sure she had written some articles that expanded on the original ad campaign that Adela, Norma Sue and Esther Mae had started with. But she had never point-blank picked two people and set out to manipulate them to fall in love.

Then again, that wasn’t really what was happening at all, not exactly. No one could make a couple fall in love, not even the matchmaking pros of Mule Hollow. There had to be that special connection. “Sparks,” as the ladies were fond of calling it—and they were hawks at spotting those romantic little embers. And it made them happy. And she was happy for them if that was what they wanted to do. She, on the other hand, was content to simply write her articles. She certainly didn’t have the knack for seeing sparks of a romantic nature. Now sparks of a disturbing nature—that just might be her niche!

What was happening to Bob was as close to getting involved on a personal level as she’d ever gotten. That was a really sad thing if she let herself dwell on it. She had a problem with closeness. But really, with the life she had chosen, closeness wasn’t a factor.

She stepped off the plank sidewalk and started across Main Street. At the sound of a fast-approaching vehicle, she glanced over her shoulder, jumping out of the way just in time for a gray minivan to whiz past her. There was nothing like nearly getting creamed to make a person lose her train of thought. Molly’s mouth fell open in a silent scream as she glimpsed the driver looking over her shoulder talking, completely unaware she’d almost mowed someone down.

Molly’s heart was pounding at the near miss. She couldn’t move for a few moments, trying to collect her wits, but her eyes were glued to the disappearing van of death.

She didn’t recognize it so she assumed it was from out of town. At the end of the street, at Prudy’s Garage, the brake lights came on and the vehicle careened to a halt beside the gas pump. It had no sooner stopped moving than suddenly heads popped out of every window! From this distance Molly thought it looked like the van literally exploded with kids. Five at least. No make that six…seven!

She was counting, when the driver stepped from the vehicle in her spandex-looking black pants and her four-inch red heels.

Oh my. That didn’t look like a mother of seven. Molly immediately wondered what her story was? Her imagination started chugging, drawing her toward Prudy’s. Stranger in town. Car full of kids. Was it by accident? Was she a woman looking for a cowboy?

There certainly could be a story in this, despite the bad headline. As Molly drew closer, the woman leaned back into the van and pulled out what looked suspiciously like a cake. A pound cake. Yes, from this distance she thought it looked like a pound cake settled on a square of foil-covered cardboard, wrapped with pink transparent plastic wrap. She squinted in the sunlight and could see a purple square in the center, like a name tag.

Was there a cake sale going on somewhere Molly didn’t know about? Maybe there was a fund-raiser going on? No, she would have known if there was a fund-raiser. That was her job to know these things.

Prudy ambled out of the grease bay squinting at the woman through his oil-speckled glasses. Molly racked her brain, making mental notes as she tugged her pencil from behind her ear and pulled her emergency notepad from her back pocket. Nearing Prudy’s, she heard the woman ask a question. Molly knew it was a question, because all of a sudden Prudy’s greasy hands began to move and wave and gesture. Everyone knew Gordon P. Rudy—Prudy for short—talked with his hands. It was fairly entertaining. And since Mule Hollow was such a small place, a person needed all the entertaining they could get. The problem was that most of the time Molly didn’t understand Prudy’s sign language!

Nobody did.

So there she was, pencil poised, paper in hand, only to watch as her story sashayed back to her van, yelled at the kids to buckle up, then sped off.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/debra-clopton/dream-a-little-dream/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.