Dream a Little Dream (3 page)

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.

T
he 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 yester
day, 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.
”

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.”