The Trouble With Lacy Brown (8 page)

He wasn’t ready to volunteer for a second round of heartbreak.

Something woke Lacy. A soft murmur, her own sigh, something. She eased up in the seat, pulling the sleeping bag securely about her. Clint sat rigidly, staring out across the night. Beneath the hat, his expression was stone hard. She followed the direction of his attention to where a faint light bobbed on the midnight horizon.

“What is that?” she asked, rubbing her eyes with her fist. She was embarrassed that she’d fallen asleep instead of waiting out the storm with her eyes open. The least she could do was keep Clint company; it was after all her fault that he was in this situation.

“Rustlers, is what that is.”

“What?”

“Cattle thieves. I’d decided they weren’t going to move tonight. I guess I was wrong.”

“Are they taking your cows?”

“Right now, as we speak.”

“And you’re just sitting here? Come on, let’s go get them.”

Clint turned to stare at her in disbelief. “We’re stuck and a sleeping bag and a shirt, no matter how huge, is not rustler-hunting attire.”

She’d forgotten that her dress was draped over the dash. “I’ll put my dress back on,” she said, reaching out and touching the fabric. “It’s pretty dry. I’ll put it on and we can sneak over there and see where they’re going.”

“Lacy, that’s probably fifteen acres between us, and at least three fences.”

“Don’t you want to stop these guys?”

“Well, sure—”

“Then look out the window. We’re outta here.”

Clint shot her a quick glance. Lacy laughed. “Anybody ever tell you that you have absolutely no sense of humor, Clint Matlock?”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Yes, it is. You just can’t see it. Now hold this sleeping bag up.”

Obviously not happy Clint took the sleeping bag anyway and held it up. She made quick work of pulling on the damp dress; for added warmth she put his shirt back on over the dress. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Lacy, we aren’t going after them tonight.”

“Why not? The rain stopped. The moon is coming out.”

“We aren’t going. We’re on the backside of my homestead. We’ll walk through the back roads. There’s
a small bridge we can cross and then we can get to my house. I’ll take you home from there.”

“I don’t want to go home.” How could he think about going home? She opened the door against his objections and stepped barefoot into the mud, ignoring the icky feel as it pressed into her toes. Since she was already a mess, with her hair plastered to her skull, her dress a dingy bit of ruined cloth, she paid the mud little mind. After all, muddy feet didn’t mean much—she was going to catch rustlers! How cool was that? “Come on, Clint. I want to catch some cow rustlers.”

“
Cattle
rustlers,” he corrected dryly. “Here,” he said a few seconds later, coming up to stand beside her at the fence. He shoved a pair of rubber boots at her, followed by a rag and a pair of socks. “These rubber boots are going to swallow your tiny feet, but they’re dry and maybe you can manage to walk in them.”

“Where’d all of this come from?”

He lifted one powerful shoulder, “I work in pastures—my feet get messed up a lot. It’s always smart to keep a dry pair of socks and rubber boots on hand. If you hadn’t been in such a hurry, I would have given them to you before.”

“Sorry, but thank you. Thank you very much.” Holding on to his arm for support, she wiped off most of the mud with the rag, then after some assistance from Clint, she pulled on the socks, then the boots. Clint didn’t say anything, simply stood beside her, as
sisting in keeping her from falling flat on her face in the mud. Finally she straightened and took a few steps. The boots
were
huge, and at first Lacy feared she wouldn’t be able to manage walking in them. But after a few awkward steps, adjusting to the slippy heel-toe/heel-toe clomping, she got the rhythm and did fairly well. Although, the boots weren’t only large in foot size, they were also tall, brushing the bottom of her dress with each clumsy step she took. She knew she looked scary, but at least now she could walk, make that
stumble,
through the wet pasture, without mud oozing between her toes.

“Coming,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder.

Clint scowled. “All right, but only because I want to catch those bozos so bad. They’ll probably be gone before we get there.”

He started ahead of her then whirled around. “One thing! You will do as I say, when I say, Lacy Brown or no go.”

Lacy slammed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “What’s the deal here? Does everyone have to take orders from you?”

“Not everybody. But if this little deal is going down then you’d better listen up. Or I’ll have to hog-tie you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’d like to see you try.”

Clint stepped closer. In the moonlight she could see his sharp gaze. “Honey,” he drawled, “you don’t want to tangle with me.”

“Oh, yeah, Clint Matlock,” she snapped over the roar of her blood in her ears. “Is that a challenge?”

“No.
This
is a challenge,” he said. He startled her by placing his hands on her shoulders, then he kissed her.

Kissed her! Lacy’s heart thundered, suddenly she wasn’t brave. She wanted to step away, frightened by the emotions raging through her. What had she done, challenging him?

As quickly as the kiss started, it ended. Clint dropped his hands, stepped away from her then strode toward the road. Baffled by what had happened between them, Lacy followed him, as best she could in the Texas-size rubber boots. When she reached him, he was staring at the pavement with his back to her. She studied the tense cords of his back, and shame overcame her. She had practically goaded him into that kiss. How could she have acted that way?

“I’m really sorry, Clint. I acted like a child. Will you forgive me?”

He swung around, and in the moonlight she saw surprise in his eyes. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I’m the buffoon who grabbed you. There is no excuse for my behavior. None.”

His unexpected remorse touched her. “Boy, do you know how to deflate a girl’s ego. I’d like to think that I’m irresistible.”

He chuckled and her stomach flipped. “Okay, so my
irresistibility didn’t drive you to kiss me. So let’s say it was due to a very stressful night that’s never going to end if we don’t get going and stop all this jabbering. We have rustlers to catch, remember.”

Clint reached for her arm. “Lacy, look. I want to catch the rustlers, but this isn’t the night to do it. Wait.” He placed two fingers across her lips, silencing her protest. “We have enough ahead of us tonight without chasing down criminals who may not even be out there by the time we make it across the pastures.”

Lacy’s traitorous heart was skipping around in her chest at the feel of his touch. But it was her mind that surprised her, because she actually agreed with him. Not that she didn’t want to hunt rustlers—she did—but she’d put Clint through enough for one day and night. It
was
time to go home. Or at least, time to try to get home before daybreak.

“You’re right, Clint Matlock. Lead the way.”

The surprise on his face at her compliance was comical, and she couldn’t help teasing him. “Okay, you stand there with your mouth open, and I’ll lead the way.” She clomped away from him, dirty dress swishing.

In one stride, he fell into step beside her. “Lacy Brown, you are the most unpredictable woman I have ever met.”

It surprised Lacy that she would have preferred irresistible to unpredictable.

“D
o what?”

Lacy stared at the black swirling water that hid a bridge somewhere beneath its surface. Clint didn’t blame her skepticism. The waters were treacherous. “I want you to hang on to my waist, my belt actually, and follow me across the bridge.”

In the dim light of the moon, that kept appearing intermittently, Clint saw fear flicker across her face before she hid it with serious scrutiny. She’d followed him for the past half hour in silence—amazingly! Now her silence bothered him. “Lacy, it’ll be all right. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She raised her eyes and Clint thought it would kill him not to kiss her again. She
was
nearly irresistible.

“I know that,” she said. “I’m just a bit nervous.”

“I’m nervous, too,” he admitted. “But if we don’t
cross, we’ll have to spend the night in my truck. And you know that’s not right.”

She contemplated the idea, studying the water, while nibbling on her lower lip.

Finally, with that quick all-or-nothing manner he’d come to admire in her, she nodded toward the water. “Lead the way. I never was much of a camper.”

That’s my Lacy, he thought. “I’ll bet if you wanted to, you could be.” When had she become his Lacy?

She smiled. “Do you want to spend the night in your truck?”

He was a Christian, and he knew the temptation and confusion being that close to her caused him. “It might be dangerous. People might talk.”

Her smile broadened. “Cowboy, that’s exactly why I wanted to cross the bridge. The Lord and I have big plans for Mule Hollow and tangoing with you is not part of them.”

“And what Lacy Brown wants—” he murmured, suddenly wanting to hit something, “Lacy Brown gets.”

“That’s right.” Her lip trembled. “At least most of the time, if it’s the Lord’s will.”

Clint tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

“Now hold on tight, and whatever you do, don’t let go. The danger isn’t the depth but the swiftness of the floodwater. If it knocks you down, it could sweep you off the bridge—there isn’t a railing.”

“Believe me, I’ll hang on, but I think we need to say a prayer.”

“Sure,” he agreed. He watched her bow her head and he did the same as she began her prayer.

“Dear Abba, forgive me where I’ve failed You today and help me to be a better steward in the hours to come. What a night You’ve given us. It’s been tiring, but exciting, and You know how I like excitement. Thank You for sending Clint to help me, and for bringing us this far safely. I pray that we make it to the other side of this bridge in one piece so that tomorrow we can talk about what a great adventure we had tonight. Thank You for watching over us. I ask these things only if Your will be done. Amen.”

“That was an interesting prayer. You talked to God like he was your dad or your friend.”

“He is on both counts,” she said gently.

Clint prayed, but not like Lacy. His dad had always said more formal prayers, and as a kid growing up he’d learned by that example. Turning toward the rushing waters he quickly said his own prayer and tried Lacy’s approach for himself. Peace settled around him, as if he were speaking to friend. A friend above all others.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Lacy said from behind him. She grasped his leather belt tightly and he heard her inhale deeply.

“Here we go. Hang on.”
This is it, Lord. Keep her
safe, please,
he thought, then stepped into the water, wishing there were a railing. Lacy followed and he waited, letting her adjust to the feel of the water surging against her legs. Her grasp tightened on his belt and he stepped farther out into the rushing water, adjusting to the strength of the current. One minute Lacy was there and the next she gasped and let go of his belt. Clint spun and in a horrified effort, grabbed for her.

But she was gone, swept out of reach by the swirling currents.

Like a guppy swimming upstream, Lacy flopped and foundered in the surprisingly strong water, already a foot deep on the bridge. The raging current swept her mercilessly toward the bridge’s edge as she tried, clawing and choking, to find something to grab onto.

Suddenly a strong hand wrapped around her wrist and held fast. The next instant she was pulled from the water and into Clint’s secure arms. He held her tightly while her heart hammered, and she gagged and sputtered and probably bawled. Her life had just flashed before her eyes with pitiful accuracy, and suddenly all she wanted was to be held by Clint Matlock.

“If you think I’m giving you another chance to save me, you’re wrong,” she muttered against his neck, absorbing the wondrous feel of his heart, pounding near to hers. Standing in the center of the bridge, his feet
planted firmly on the wood, like a solid pillar withstanding the raging waters, he held her securely. It hit her that this was a picture of how life with Clint Matlock would always be.

Wordlessly he began moving toward the bank. His strength evident in his movements through the current. Lacy couldn’t have put her feet back in that water if she’d wanted to, but she didn’t get the chance. He held her snugly against him and managed the crossing within minutes. When at last they walked onto dry ground, she wanted to kiss him. Who was she kidding! She wanted to marry him and have his children!
Dear Father, what have You done to me?

“Since I’ve come to Mule Hollow, I’m not certain who’s in the most danger. You or me,” she croaked.

He placed his forehead against hers. “I knew the moment I first saw you that you were trouble. I’ve been saying it at least twice a day ever since.” His voice was gruff, his hand gentle as he smoothed her hair. Shifting away from her, he studied her face, then lowered her to the ground. “Can you manage?” he asked, still holding her tight against him.

Her feet barely touched the pavement, and Lacy felt like laughing. She’d read love stories, knew about significant moments when the hero and heroine shared their feelings through eye contact. And she knew she wasn’t supposed to laugh.

But this isn’t a love story. “You’re asking me if I can
manage? Me. Klutzola. To be honest, I’m not sure what I can do anymore. Maybe barefooted, I can manage to walk the rest of the way without falling.”

“And maybe you can’t,” he said, and swept her back into his arms and started walking. “I should never have risked you walking across that bridge.”

“Clint, put me down,” she sputtered. “I can walk.”

He didn’t stop.

She didn’t want him to carry her. She wanted to walk on her own feet. If she weren’t careful, she’d forget all about her mission and fall flat out in love with the guy.

Talk, the talk Clint had so sweetly wanted to protect her from, spread like ice melting near an open flame. By the time Lacy woke the next morning, Norma Sue, Esther Mae and Adela were waiting on her doorstep.

The first thing Lacy saw when she answered the door was Esther Mae’s triple-decker doing a shimmy as she shook her head vigorously to something Norma Sue had just said. All three of them clammed up, staring innocently at Lacy the minute she opened the door. Something was up.

“Come in and give me the scoop. What’s on the grapevine this morning?” Standing aside, she let the ladies scurry into the living room.

“What scoop?” Norma Sue asked innocently.

Lacy perched on the edge of her flowered couch. Her neon yellow nightshirt blended well with the fluorescent kaleidoscope of colors in the couch’s print. “Now, Norma Sue, I know you don’t know me very well. Yet, I would hope you realize that I give my opinion and thoughts straight out. I expect the same in return. Now, what’s on your minds?”

“Is what Norma Sue says true?” Adela asked.

“Yeah. Did you spend the night with Clint?”

The question startled Lacy, even though she’d half expected it. Their expressions told exactly what they were thinking. Shame on them.

“Oh, come on, girls,” Lacy said. “Of course not. My car ran out of gas then the storm blew in and drenched me. Clint
kind of
rescued me.”

“Kind of?” Esther Mae asked. Crestfallen, she looked at Adela then Norma Sue. Even her hair seemed to droop. “How do you
kind of
rescue someone?”

Lacy related her story—omitting the kissing. She wasn’t
not
giving the story to them straight, she simply didn’t believe certain parts of the evening were everybody’s business. Since there were parts of last night that she didn’t understand herself, she had no great desire to pass the confusing and private details down the grapevine.

“Well, what happened after y’all made it to his house?” Norma Sue asked.

“He brought me home, then he went home.” Again,
Lacy didn’t think the ladies needed to know how strained the ride home had been.

And they certainly didn’t need to know just how disappointed she’d been when he’d turned away and driven off without following through with another kiss.

Just a few short hours after dropping Lacy off at her house, Clint was sitting at his desk whistling as he thumbed through a week’s worth of unopened mail. Between rustlers and Lacy Brown, opening mail had been the last thing on his mind. But it had to be done, and after last night’s unbelievable events, sitting down at his desk for mail call held even less appeal.

Lacy Brown intrigued him. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t just a flighty, looking-for-fun gal. She really did seem to have real substance. No matter what he told himself, she seemed to be the total package.

Seemed
being the pivotal word.

He tapped the corner of the envelope on his desktop and wrangled with the desire to forget the pain in his past. Right now all he wanted to do was haul his carcass into town and hold Lacy again.

Even if it went against every good brain cell he had in his head.

Absentmindedly, he glanced down at the letter in his hand. He’d been sorting the many envelopes into piles, as he had to get some work done. Skimming over the
return address, he was ready to deposit it into its appropriate stack of bills, personal or ranch correspondence, when the name on the upper left-hand corner jumped out at him. Clint’s world tilted as he forced himself to focus on the name in neat script: Amber Matlock. His mother’s name stared back at him. She’d used her name as it had been all those years ago, when she’d still been his mother, when she’d still had the right to carry his father’s last name. White-hot anger flashed through Clint; she had no right to the Matlock name now, not after the shame she’d brought to it. He dropped the letter, scraped his chair back and away, glaring at the plain white envelope. His heart pounded, and there was a surge in his blood pressure that the three feet between him and the letter did nothing to ease.

How many times as a kid had he wished to see his mother’s name on an envelope addressed to him? How many times had he prayed she’d come home?

Rocked to his core, he reached out, picked up the envelope and slowly turned it over in his palm. He was a grown man, and yet he felt transported back in time to that same hurting kid he’d been when his mother had chosen someone else over him. No goodbye, no word…ever. Until now. His gut ached; emotions he’d fought hard to suppress slammed into him in hard waves.

After years of wondering, years of wishing… His
hand trembled with weakness as another wave hit him. What did she want? Was she all right? Fighting back the betraying curiosity, the longing he’d thought he’d overcome, he slowly, very slowly pulled open his desk drawer, dropped the letter inside and slammed it shut with a definite thud.

The silence that echoed through the room held unasked questions. Questions he did not care to give voice to. His mother had torn his childish heart to shreds when she’d left him.

Because of that he’d stopped wishing for anything that had to do with Amber Matlock a long time ago.

And that was how it would remain.