The Trouble With Lacy Brown Page 5

  It had been another long night for Clint, staked out on the back side of the ranch watching for rustlers. Judging by Roy Don’s agitated state, the day promised to be even longer. It was midmorning, and another scorcher. The sun had come up fighting mad, bringing Clint home from his stakeout sticky, stinking and wanting nothing more than a cool shower, a fresh cup of coffee and a positive report from his men, who had been camped out at other strategic points of the ranch.

  What he’d gotten was Roy Don, pacing anxiously back and forth across his office. “Don’t get me wrong,” he was saying. “I, for one, couldn’t live without my Norma Sue, but, Clint…this scheme of theirs is out of control.”

  “Relax, Roy Don. You know Norma Sue will settle down after a while. I figure, if any women come at all, it’ll just be a few. If more show up…” He shrugged. “Who knows—maybe this is the way to revive Mule Hollow.” Clint scratched his chest and eased toward the door and the shower.

  “But, son, you don’t understand. That’s what I been tryin’ to tell you. You ain’t been to town in three days. You ain’t seen what I saw this mornin’.”

  Since finding a trailblazing Lacy in his pasture, it was true Clint hadn’t been into town. He’d been busy—with rustlers and all. It had absolutely nothing to do with her. “Roy Don, weren’t you telling me just the other day that having her here could be fun?”

  The older man’s face sagged and he stopped pacing. “That was before. Before she got this all-fired idea of hers.”

  Clint scrubbed his stubby face; he was tired and he didn’t just want that shower, he needed it. But his curiosity got the better of him. “What did she do? Tell me.”

  Roy Don shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t say the words. But—the town will never…and I mean ever be the same.”

  “Man, what’s come over you? Rustlers don’t even get under your skin like this.”

  “All I can say is go to town, Clint. See for yourself. Sam and Pete tried to get Hank Wilcox and me to talk to Esther Mae and Norma Sue. They told us to ask ’em to get her to reconsider! But naw, Hank and me figured them crazy women would come to their senses on their own and talk her out of it.” He paused to suck in a long breath. He looked as if he’d been to his best friend’s funeral. “We were wrong. Dead wrong.”

  Suddenly Clint was worried. “Roy Don, tell me what that woman’s done. Tell me right this minute—”

  “Nope. I had to come up on it by surprise—’bout near had a wreck, too. Son, you need the full impact.” Slapping his hat against his thigh, he turned and strode toward the door. “It ain’t right, Clint,” he added tiredly. “It just ain’t right.”

  That was all Clint needed. He snatched his hat from the rack and was in his truck speeding down the road within seconds. Toward what, he didn’t know. Roy Don was the mildest-mannered man he’d ever met. It baffled him, wondering what Lacy Brown had done. What could be awful enough to upset the man so much?

  A quarter of a mile before Mule Hollow, he nearly drove into the ditch when the town’s outline appeared on the horizon. No, way, she wouldn’t! Clint cringed, squinting into the distance.

  Sure as the day was bright, she was painting her two-story plank building pink!

  Not just any pink. Hot pink. The fluorescent color used to paint steps. The kind intended to keep people from breaking their necks—ha! Fat chance. He could already see the pileups. The broken bones. The jokes.

  Roy Don had been right. This couldn’t happen. What had the women been thinking?

  Soon as he brought his truck to a screeching halt in front of the atrocious offense, he slammed out of it, asking, “What in thunder do you think you’re doing?”

  From the rungs of her ten-foot ladder, she stared down at him. He was ready for war, but he had a sinking feeling when his eyeballs suddenly glued themselves to the sight of her in a pair of bleached-out cutoff blue jeans.

  “Pretty in Pink.”

  Lacy’s amused voice broke through the fog. “What?” he managed. Pushing his Stetson back from his forehead with his thumb, his eyes moved up and found her smiling radiantly at him. She was beautiful.

  “‘Pretty in Pink.’ It’s the name of the paint. Don’t you like it?”

  Like it. Clint tried unsuccessfully to focus on her words. Pale as a full moon, her hair spiked out from beneath a bright yellow baseball cap that proclaimed Bad Hair Day across the front. And it wasn’t lying, but did that stop him from having the urge to pull off the cap?

  “Woman.” He bit the word out, angry at himself. “You do like making a spectacle of yourself, don’t you?”

  “And what does that mean?” She continued to stare down at him.

  “The way I figure it, when a woman shows off that much flesh, she’s begging to be looked at.” What are you doing, Matlock?

  She plopped one paintbrush-wielding hand on her hip and a spray of pink paint showered down on him.

  “Hey, look out.”

  “I’ll have you know it’s a hundred degrees out here. If a man were painting this building, he’d be shirtless. Like I said the other day, you have some issues with being kind of a chauvinistic snob.”

  “I most certainly do not,” he denied, slapping his hand on the side of the ladder.

  “Hey, watch out,” she scolded when the ladder shifted. “Far be it from me to ruin your fantasy, if you can’t face the truth.”

  Clint stiffened. “Look who’s talking—a woman painting a place of business the color of…of lipstick.”

  “I’ll have you know, a loud color will attract attention.”

  “What kind of attention? That’s all I’m asking. I thought you were here to curl hair. Looks like you’re here to curl some fella’s toes.”

  “Clint Matlock. The pink is so everyone will know my salon on sight. Also, it’ll get a little talk going. Draw a bit of attention.”

  “That’s what I said.” Clint scanned the street. Everyone in town, what few there were at this time of day, either stood on the street corner watching, or peered out a window. Across the street at the feed store, a few of the boys leaned against the porch enjoying the show. He wondered why none of them had offered to help. But then, why interfere? This scheme the ladies had cooked up wouldn’t work. Guilt hit Clint. She was, in her weird way, trying to help all these guys.

  Softening his tone he asked, “How long have you been at this?”

  She’d resumed painting and her hips swayed gently to the rhythm of the brush.

  “Since sunup.”

  “Five hours?”

  “Yup.” She stretched and painted as high as she could reach and still didn’t get the last five feet of the building.

  “It’s time for a break.”

  “What?” She straightened, latching her gaze to his.

  “I said it’s time you climbed down from that stage and moved your body into the shade for a while. You’ll have a heatstroke up there.”

  Big blue innocent eyes blinked down at him. “Look, Clint,” she said, as she resumed painting, “I have a building to paint before tomorrow.”

  “Lacy.” Clint slapped a rung of the ladder again to get her attention; she really did need to get out of the sizzling sun before she had a heatstroke. In his exasperation, he slapped the ladder too hard and it shifted.

  “Ohhh…” she cried as the thing started sliding. “Ohhh—ohhh—”

  Unable to believe what he’d done, Clint scrambled to stop the runaway ladder from falling. He grasped at the rungs, missed and caught Lacy’s ankle instead.

  Clinging to the ladder, she yelped when it twisted around and put Clint in front of the ladder staring up at a wobbling can of paint! He knew he was in trouble, but he held on to her ankle. He had gotten Lacy into this mess and he would get her out of it. It seemed for a moment that time stopped. One second she was clinging to the ladder, the paint can balanced before her, and then she was dropping into his arms. Unfortunately, the paint landed first.

  Her eyes were huge saucers. Her chest hea
ved and for the briefest moment her sassy veneer disappeared, making her seem almost vulnerable. Clint felt a surprising and overwhelming compulsion to protect her, as she had protected the helpless calf.

  She blinked, her eyes narrowed and the helpless aura vanished. “Is it just me, or do you accost all the new residents of Mule Hollow?”

  And he’d just associated her with the word helpless. “Who’s attacking who?” he asked drolly. “I’m the one with the pink paint dripping off my eyebrows.”

  Her lip quivered. “And I must say it’s a fine color for you. But if you hadn’t thrown a hissy and smacked my ladder, I’d still be painting and you’d be your same dry self.”

  Frowning, he set her away from him, pivoted on his heel and headed toward his truck.

  “See what I mean,” she called.

  He glanced over his shoulder. She stood hipshot and smiling, looking better than he looked at this moment.

  “Temper, temper,” she clucked.

  “Should have dropped you,” he muttered then climbed into his truck and hightailed it away from her.

  Lacy watched Clint’s black truck disappearing into the heat, fumes radiating off the long stretch of pavement. That man really got under her skin. And she meant really. Why, she had goose bumps, thinking about how she’d felt being held in his arms. Twice she’d been there and twice she’d liked it. But oh, how she didn’t want to.

  “You know he makes you all gooey inside,” Sheri said, coming to stand beside her.

  Lacy quirked an eyebrow and frowned.

  Sheri didn’t take the hint. “Don’t give me that look. You know you’re not dead inside that hyperactive skin of yours. You know Clint Matlock is tempting. Admit it.”

  Lacy couldn’t help it. She smiled. “Okay, the guy is…interesting.”

  “Ha! Interesting. Lacy Brown, you know good and well that if male magnetism could be copied and sold it’d be Clint Matlock they’d be using.”

  “Really, Sheri, I’d think you have a crush on the man.”

  “It’s not me he can’t keep his eyes off.”

  Lacy whirled away and started toward the alley, where the water hose was connected to the hydrant. Sure, she liked what she saw. She was curious, too. About a lot of things, like why the man was so controlling. Did it have anything to do with his mom running away with the circus? And had he ever overcome the pain rejection like that caused a kid to harbor? And what had that done to his faith?

  She pushed aside old feelings of betrayal as they swept over her. She’d had her own feelings to overcome when her father had walked out on her and her mom. Only through the love of her heavenly Father had she been able to forgive her birth father. Still, sometimes the raw ache would slip back in and she questioned why. She was human; abandonment left scars.

  “You can’t keep bringing this up, Sheri. It’s not time for me to think about this. I don’t want to think about it.”

  Sheri was leaning against the wall watching her. Lacy turned on the water hose and sprayed herself, clothes and all.

  “When is a good time?”

  “When I say.”

  “Lacy, Dillon was a jerk. I’d say more but my mom taught me better.”

  “This isn’t about Dillon, or my father, for that matter. How many times must we go through this? This is about me and what I’ve committed to do for the Lord. I’m here to learn to put Christ first and me second. That goes for relationships, too. Dillon wasn’t a Christian.” Lacy halted her words when Sheri started shaking her head. Lacy jutted out her chin and frowned. Why did Sheri keep doing this? “I know he misled me—”

  “Misled you! Lacy, the guy lied to you. He willingly caused you to believe he was committed to God. He knew what you were looking for in a man, so he faked being what you wanted.”

  Reluctantly Lacy thought back to the painful memory, then forced it aside. “That’s beside the point. God had a plan for me, period. He is in control and this is where I was supposed to come. I’m grateful that things didn’t work out between me and Dillon. Really I am.” Finishing up with the water Lacy walked over and turned off the faucet. “I believe with all my heart that this is where God intended me to be…building a business. Not, and may I repeat, not finding a man!”

  “That’s all very good, Lacy. But like I keep telling you, you can’t pick the time, place or who you’re going to fall in love with. I just don’t think you need to fight this obvious attraction with Clint. He could be the one.”

  Lacy sighed long and hard and counted to ten. What was she going to do with Sheri? “Okay, let’s think about this differently. What, please tell me, has given you that idea? If you think about it, Clint and I haven’t spoken more than about six civil sentences. That hardly constitutes the basis for a loving, Christian relationship.”

  Sheri smiled. “Sometimes people around you can see what you don’t want to see. And believe me, I see plenty.”

  Lacy pulled off her cap and ran a restless hand through her curls. “I don’t even know if Clint has a relationship with Christ. Believe me, I’m not making any more mistakes, Sheri. I’ll pray long and hard about the next man I fall in love with and I’ll make certain to see some fruit from his Christian walk before I say I do.”

  Sheri nodded. “I guess you’re right about that. But I bet Clint is going to pass muster.”

  “And that would be wonderful if he did. But right now it’s back to work. Do you see how much of that building I still have to paint.”

  Roy Don came out of the office as Clint was stalking stiff-legged toward the house. Since paint was drying in places he didn’t care to scrub with a wire brush, Clint didn’t stop to explain. Instead he held up a hand. “Don’t say anything. Not one word. It’s not a pretty story. You can get one of the boys to clean up my truck seat.”

  A smart man, Roy Don knew when to hide a grin. “It’s as good as taken care of.”

  Clint stamped to the house and yanked open the back door. At long last he was finally getting the shower he’d been dreaming of all night, while hiding in the bushes waiting on rustlers, and he couldn’t even enjoy it for all the scrubbing he was going to have to endure.

  Twenty minutes later, scrubbed nearly raw, his skin now pinker than any paint Lacy Brown could possibly concoct, Clint stood before the mirror in his bathroom and studied his hair with dismay. He’d already dressed in loose jeans and a navy polo shirt before he’d looked at himself in the mirror and realized that not all the paint had been destroyed.

  Lacy Brown had painted his hair pink!

  He looked like a lead guitarist for one of those hard-rock bands. Letting out a groan, he planted his palms on either side of the sink and leaned toward the mirror. He was up a creek without a paddle. If just one of his ranch hands saw this, he’d never live down the joking. Texas cowboys delighted in a chance to poke fun at some poor sodbuster. The boss drew the jokes tenfold if he happened to be the one caught in a tender situation. Pink hair! Not in a million years would he have ever thought something like this could happen to him. Of course, since Lacy had come to town, there had been a lot happening to him that he’d never have dreamed of. But this—he’d have to find a way to get rid of the stuff. Pronto.

  Lacy would know how.

  The thought slipped into his thoughts, but he quickly put it away; he wasn’t about to ask her. Not after the way he’d treated her. Yeah, how have you treated her? He stared at himself as he lathered on shaving cream, then wiped his hands on a towel. The woman had come to town to open a business and, in her spastic mind, help the town. She might have her own motives about being here, but essentially, from the little he’d been able to understand from her, she had noble ideas about helping Mule Hollow survive. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled remembering the way she’d suddenly started singing right there in the middle of town after they’d had their little driving mishap. The woman was—he hated to say it—the woman was sometimes entertaining and beautiful in a Meg Ryan sort of way. She did have a way of making him smile…
.

  And she was out in that hot sun painting all alone because not a soul had offered to help.

  He ignored the pang of guilt; instead he picked up his razor and started to shave his face while trying not to look himself in the eye. So what if it was a hundred degrees outside? Could he help it if the crazed woman didn’t know when to quit? He wasn’t her keeper—he met his gaze in the mirror. Somebody needed to be!

  Chapter Five

  Sweat trickled down Lacy’s face so she paused her painting, pulled off her cap and wiped the bucket of perspiration from her forehead with the back of her arm. It was blazing hot. Clint had been right about that. She hated to admit it, but maybe she should get out of the sun and rest. She didn’t have time, though. Why she’d only painted a little bit of her building and she wanted a whole lot more accomplished before she stopped. She hadn’t even stopped to eat. There was so much to be done. Sheri needed help inside. The walls and woodwork needed painting, wallpaper had to be hung…the list went on and on.

  Help would be nice, but Adela and the girls were busy overseeing the remodeling of the old Howard place. They needed some sort of accommodation for the women when they did come, and someone had to take care of that. Lacy understood and agreed that the apartments were a wonderful idea. Besides, it was too hot out here for them.

  Dizziness swept over her; she swayed. For support, she grasped the railing that ran the length of the second-story roof. After a moment, the woozy feeling diminished and she placed her brush on the side of the paint bucket. Maybe going in wasn’t such a bad idea…just for a minute anyway. She scanned the horizon, took a deep breath of sultry air and started to climb down from her perch on top of the front overhang, when three trucks materialized out of the distant road haze.

  Clicking along at a fast pace, they looked like they were on a mission. She wondered who it could be, and then as they drew closer she knew.

  “Lord, please give me patience,” she muttered, recognizing the large black four-by-four truck in the lead. Clint Matlock had returned.