Dream a Little Dream Read online

  “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 m
ean 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 H
ollow’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.