The Trouble With Lacy Brown Read online

  Tires screeching, he halted his truck in front of her building. The other vehicles followed suit. Clint and six men stepped to the pavement. Why, it looked like the shoot-out at the O.K. Corral. Scuffed boots, snug, work-worn jeans, sweat-soaked Stetsons… These were real cowboys! And they all stood, legs planted slightly apart, fist jammed on hard hips, staring up at her with steely eyes as if she were some kind of bandit. She felt like she should draw her six-shooter or something.

  “I told you to get out of this heat.” Clint’s voice was dangerously low; his spurs clinked ominously as he stepped toward her.

  Her pulse skipped about fifty beats—she plunked a hand to her hip and met his deadly glare. “And I told you I had to finish painting today.” Goodness, but the man was gorgeous!

  “Either you come down off that roof or I’m coming up and hauling you down.”

  The men looked from Clint to Lacy.

  “Two things. One—I’d like to see you try hauling me down from here. And two—what are they doing here?

  “They are going to finish this job for you. Now come on down. Or I’m warning you, I’m coming up.”

  The man was infuriating…and intriguing. He had to be the orneriest man she’d ever met in her entire life. Not many men had ever stood up to her for long. She admired Clint’s courage. Plus, at least he’d brought help. She had begun to worry that all the cowpokes were worthless, like the ones that had watched her from across the street off and on all day. They hadn’t even offered to help clean up the mess after Clint left. All they’d wanted to know was if Lacy and Sheri wanted to go for a beer when they finished work. The slugs. Automatically Lacy had relegated them to the bottom of her matchmaking list.

  “Well, are you coming down or what?” Clint drawled, stepping toward the ladder.

  “Don’t you dare touch my ladder again. I’m coming down.” Thrusting out her chin, she stalked to the ladder. There was no sense letting him know how much she appreciated his coming to her rescue. Or how much she needed rescuing.

  Or how cute he was, doing the rescuing!

  Watching Lacy descend the ladder, Clint figured he’d been a bit hasty coming back. The woman was dangerous to his mental health. She was trouble all right. He told himself not to get mixed up with her, but…every time he saw her, he liked what he saw. It wasn’t only the looks that set her apart, it was her mouth. When she opened it and smarted off—well, he liked it. He kind of enjoyed the banter. But that didn’t mean he wanted anything to come of it. Because he didn’t.

  She’d reached the bottom rung and was mere inches from him. Up close, she was flushed more than he’d first thought. Stubborn woman could be near a heatstroke already.

  “Cowboy,” she said, cupping her palm against his jaw. He started at the surprise contact. “I can tell you’re used to getting your way, people jumping at your every command. I’ve done it this time—” She dropped her hand and started walking up the steps to her salon. “But—” she paused at the door and looked over her shoulder at him “—I wouldn’t get used to it if I were you.”

  The woman seriously impaired his thinking process. Clint shook his head and forced his gaze from the doorway through which Lacy had just disappeared. To think he’d rushed back to town to show some neighborly goodwill by helping paint her building. All the while telling himself he could handle being near her.

  Her touch on his cheek had snagged his attention and set his skin to tingling, but it was the challenge in her words that had him wanting—what? Wanting to crowd her space and see what happened. That’s what.

  “Clint, you want us to start painting?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I want,” he snapped, turning to his top hand, J.P. He’d walked over while Clint had been drowning in thoughts and now stood beside him staring up at the building in shock. “Get the boys started. I want this building painted by nightfall.” Clint secured his hat firmly in place. It wouldn’t do for the men to see his pink hair. He’d never get any work out of them for all the bad jokes and rank laughter. He tugged at his waistband and squared his shoulders before turning back toward the doorway. He and Lacy had some business to finish and he needed to make certain she hadn’t walked into the cool building and passed out.

  “Sir?”

  He paused at the door and lifted an eyebrow at the bitter face the younger man was making. “Something bothering you, J.P.?”

  “Well—” he shrugged a shoulder toward the building “—pink?”

  Clint’s sentiments exactly. “Yeah, pink,” he said, then stomped into Lacy’s flaming flamingo building.

  He found her standing beside a small refrigerator downing a glass of water. Instantly his gut twisted at the sight of her, relaxed for the first time. After a moment he forced his gaze away to the safety of surveying the room.

  What a mess! Wallpaper peeled away from one wall, another wasn’t even drywalled! Instead, naked brick met his gaze. The floor was hardwood and very near ruination. Beat-up with age, it had been swept but would require more than the bristles of a broom to become presentable. The fifteen-foot ceiling wasn’t much better with its ancient light fixtures off-kilter, some hanging by mere threads. At best, the place was a regular firetrap. If Lacy were half smart, she’d do herself a favor, toss a match to the place and walk away.

  But obviously Lacy and her friend, who was squatted in a corner peeling paper, weren’t half-smart. They were slap crazy.

  “Don’t you love it?”

  Love it? He twisted, searching for what Lacy was speaking of, but she was looking at him and he knew, with startling regret, that the adoration in her voice wasn’t aimed his direction. “You aren’t talking about this place?”

  She wiped the last of the perspiration from her forehead with a small white towel and smiled. “Well, what else would I be talking about? You?”

  “Of course not,” he said, jamming his hands in his pockets, confused as to why that statement bothered him so. He glanced around again at the mess and wondered at the kind of woman who could look past the dirt and grime and see something to love. “My men will finish painting the outside of the building. That way you can start work in here. Why? I don’t know.”

  His sarcasm prompted a chuckle. “You think my place is a wreck?”

  “A wreck—” he paused dramatically “—would be too kind a word.” This statement garnered a dour look from her, and Clint found himself smiling. “You think I’m kidding?”

  “Quite the contrary, I know you’re dead serious.”

  He cocked a hip, mocking the way he’d seen her do many times. “Oh, yeah, how’s that?”

  She fanned herself with her hand. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s people. You took one look at this place and saw doom and gloom. Same as Sheri.”

  Clint figured on that point she had him, considering his lack of understanding of how anyone could look at such a dump in any other way.

  He was in the process of saying so when her coloring went from flushed to pasty. She swayed, then started crumbling.

  One minute Lacy was standing, then she was doubled over in a chair staring at old gum wads stuck to the underside of the seat while Clint Mad-dog Matlock held her head down and commanded her to breathe!

  “Do what?” she cried, gasping for air—air that had been forced from her windpipe when he’d crushed her in his big-bear-rescue hug then slammed her into the gum-infested chair.

  “Breathe, Lacy. The woozy feeling will pass after a minute.”

  “I told her to slow down.”

  That came from Sheri, who Lacy could see out of the corner of her upside-down view, had moved to the sink. From the sound she was wetting something down.

  “You’ll learn that Lacy does what Lacy wants.” She continued. “It’s a genetic screwup.”

  “I love you, too, Sheri,” Lacy growled, struggling against Clint’s powerful grip.

  “Yeah, well, you need to,” Sheri snapped, slapping a wet rag across the back of Lacy’s neck. “Nobody but me would be fool e
nough to go along with your nonsense.”

  Lacy started a comeback, but rivers of water were running down her neck, up her jawbone and detouring straight into her nose—I’m drowning here!

  “Haven’t you ever heard of heatstroke?” Clint asked.

  Heatstroke? I’m drowning! The man was completely oblivious to the fact that he was killing her. She managed to turn her head, to take a breath, and was about to do some talking of her own, when she noticed the warmth of Clint’s strong fingers and the gentle pulsing movements they were making against her collarbone. She clamped her mouth firmly shut and shifted a tad into the feel of those hands. What nice hands he has….

  “In this climate, you work a while and rest a while.”

  His voice had shifted to match the soothing rhythm of his hands.

  “Especially if you aren’t used to it,” he continued.

  He’d crouched to her level—mere inches from her—and suddenly, just like a moment in the movies she loved, Lacy felt suspended in time, drifting in the moment.

  “I—” Clint started, cleared his throat and continued softly “—I work in the heat every day and I still have to call it quits when my body signals it’s had enough.”

  He really had the most beautiful lips, strong lines sloped into a questioning frown. His hands, now still, remained on her collarbone, fanned out wide. Against everything she believed in and wanted, Lacy lifted her hand and touched the corner of his lips with the tip of her finger. And that’s when she knew she could be in trouble here.

  And that was simply not in her plans.

  Chapter Six

  Clint took a breath. He felt as if he were having heatstroke himself looking at Lacy’s lovely face. There was no denying that she was appealing.

  His heart thudded when her gaze rested on his lips like a gentle butterfly, then flitted upward to meet his gaze.

  Of its own accord, his hand lifted and pushed a damp swath of hair from her temple. “I,” he started, shifting closer still. “I—”

  “I’m sorry,” she filled in, straightening suddenly. “I tend to be a bit headstrong. I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble.” She was chattering. “And I called you all kinds of silly names—not to mention killing your Jeep. Can you forgive me?”

  He swallowed a groan as she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

  What had he been thinking? He stumbled up and back like he’d been zapped with a cattle prod. “Stay put,” he growled, backing toward the door, wanting to run before he did something really stupid like hauling her up and giving her a real kiss. “Don’t venture out that door again today.”

  “But I have to finish. I need to be opened when the women start coming.”

  He paused at the door, savoring the look of her. “You really think this cockamamie scheme will work?”

  “Not think—I know it’s going to work.”

  Clint pushed his hat back a tad, feeling frustrated. “You don’t say. Are you always so positive?”

  A loud laugh rang out from Sheri, who had been silent until now. “If you only knew.”

  Lacy Brown was going to be the ruination of some poor fella. And it wouldn’t be him, he reminded himself.

  “Like I said,” he said curtly, before Lacy could interrupt, “stay put. My men will take care of painting the outside. You work inside, out of the sun. It’s safer that way.”

  Before she could say anything else—and he was certain she would—Clint spun on his heel and exited the building. He needed to cool off and get his head back on straight. He’d done his duty. He’d acted neighborly, had his men giving a helping hand and now he needed to get back to work. His work.

  He didn’t quite make it. Norma Sue halted him on the sidewalk. “Howdy-doody, Clint,” she said, hurtling to a stop beside him. “Roy Don called and told me how neighborly you were being to Lacy. I think that’s right nice of you. I thought the girls might like to come on over to the house for grilled burgers and fries later on tonight. Didn’t think you’d mind, seeing how accommodating you’ve been.”

  Clint scowled. Norma Sue and Roy Don lived in the foreman’s house on the ranch. It was just a hop, skip and a jump from his place. Lacy Brown on his territory—he wasn’t all too lit up with the idea, but Norma Sue had a right to invite whoever she wanted. “Suit yourself. I’m tracking rustlers again tonight.” He started to walk off.

  “Now, Clint, hold on a minute. You know those coots will still be there after supper. You come on over and welcome these girls. Wouldn’t be right if you didn’t.”

  “Norma Sue—”

  “Don’t you Norma Sue me! I’ve changed your diapers and swatted your backside while you were waiting to fill your daddy’s boots. He’d have come and so will you. It’s the right thing to do.”

  The right thing to do for who? “I’ll be there. But I’m not staying for coffee.”

  “Fine. I’m sure with a sweet thing like Lacy, I won’t have any trouble getting one of your hired hands to come over for polite conversation after supper.”

  “Polite,” Clint scoffed. “Have you met Lacy Brown? The woman wouldn’t know polite if she fell in it.” Well, that’s not completely true.

  Norma Sue chuckled. “This is good, Clint. Your feathers haven’t been this riled up in…ever. Boy, you ain’t had this happen to you before. Have you?”

  “If by that you mean, have I ever met a woman made for trouble like that one in there? Then the answer would be no. Never. And I really don’t reckon this time has made my day. I’ve been run over by a pink piece of junk. Had myself painted pink from head to toe by that little filly. Norma Sue—” he paused, shook his head “to be honest—I don’t want to think about what comes next.”

  Trying to relax, Lacy drove toward Clint’s ranch. However, she was tired and edgy. She seldom had a problem with energy, hyperactivity being a flaw she’d faced all her life. But tonight her sunburn stung and she felt physically drained. Not to mention that she was disappointed in herself. She had once again not shown a very Christian manner toward Clint Matlock.

  “Sheri,” she said loudly, talking over the wind whipping around them in the open convertible, “I hate to admit it, but I guess I stayed out in the sun too long.”

  “Uh-huh. You just now figured that out? Look at you. Our handsome neighbor probably really did save you from heatstroke.”

  Lacy frowned. She didn’t like feeling foolish, but the worst was owing more thanks to Clint Matlock. The bullheaded ox—she could just see his smirk. There you go again.

  The man was too domineering for his own good. Too sure of himself. Each time he came near, she felt like she’d just completed a twenty-mile race. Dear Lord, I know part of the reason I’m reacting toward Clint this way is because I don’t want to feel this attraction. So help me to ignore the physical feelings I’m having so that he might see You in me and not me in me.

  Her quick prayer done, she turned into the driveway of Norma Sue’s place and shifted the Caddy into Park. Instantly she knew God had a funny sense of humor because Clint came striding up to the car the minute she turned off the ignition.

  “How’s the Caddy?” he asked, opening her door.

  “Smart move,” Sheri said, striding past him toward the porch. “Asking about that car is the way to her heart. That rattletrap has more dimples than my thighs, but Lacy loves it.”

  Lacy stepped from the car, reminding herself that she had a mission to complete and Clint was not a distraction she needed. “What? No name-calling?”

  He shrugged, tipping his hat back a tad with his thumb in that now-familiar way of his. Those disturbing eyes settled on her.

  “To each his own,” he said dryly. “I figure you also have a picture of Elvis hanging in a prominent place on your wall.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” she teased, moving toward the porch, intent on getting away.

  Clint’s chuckle behind her was snuffed out by a burst of laughter from inside the house up ahead. Against her better judgment, Lacy slowed h
er pace on the pebbled path.

  The short path snaked around a huge oak tree flanked by massive rosebushes. She paused beside the oak’s twisted trunk. Clint paused beside her, and over the fragrant aroma of roses she caught the fresh, clean scent of soap. A clean soap smell had always been Lacy’s favorite.

  “So, why the infatuation for Elvis?”

  Elvis? Who was Elvis? “It’s not really,” she said, trying to ignore Clint’s nearness and the odd fact that he seemed to want to talk to her after he’d stormed out of her salon like she’d grown horns.

  “I—I like his music,” she stammered, glancing to the rose beside her, amazed at her trepidation. “He made wonderful music, but his life was a shambles.” Looking up, she lifted an eyebrow at Clint. “I’ve always felt sorry for him. I tend to want to fix…things.”

  “So, you like to fix people?” He studied her intently.

  Lacy lifted a shoulder and smiled. “It’s a weakness I have.”

  “So you came to Mule Hollow to fix things? I hope you learned your lesson out there today. Any more stunts like that one this afternoon, and you’ll be the one needing to be fixed.”

  So much for feeling all warm and fuzzy about the man. Lacy straightened her shoulders and met the infuriating man’s gaze straight on. “I thank you very much for having your men finish painting for me this afternoon. However, I did fine before they got there, and I would have finished without them.”

  “You would have been in bed from that heatstroke I keep warning you about.”

  “Clint Matlock, you are the most irritating man I have ever met.”

  “Me? Ha.” He stepped closer and glared down at her from beneath the brim of his hat.

  “Ha.” Lacy snapped. Feeling like a prizefighter, she stepped up to Clint. “You are a high-handed domineering bully. If all the men in this town are half as bullheaded as you, then we can all forget this ‘revive-the-town plan’ right now. And as for you, you can forget about being included. I’m not even going to try and find you a mate. It would be impossible.”