The Trouble With Lacy Brown Page 8

  “You see, I admire Paul in the Bible so much. His zeal at ministering to people, his obedience is humbling to me. He gave up so much and was so single-minded in his purpose. I wanted that, too, so I started praying fervently for direction…and then I ran across Adela’s ad…” She paused, remembering the feeling that had overcome her reading the ad for the first time. “And God spoke to me. And I knew—I knew that Mule Hollow was where He would have me come.”

  Clint gave her a lopsided smile, and in the shadows of his hat brim thrown by the pale light from the dash, his eyes glinted. Lacy’s stomach did a flip-flop.

  “Of course Sheri thought I was crazy.” She laughed nervously. “But what else is new? You see, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m a bit like Peter instead of Paul. I’m kind of headstrong and I put my foot in my mouth a lot.”

  Clint chuckled. “No, I hadn’t noticed that at all.”

  “Look, bucko,” she said, grinning and feeling weirdly at ease, “laugh all you want, but Mule Hollow will be everything I see in here.” She tapped her forehead. “If you could only see what I see when I look down Main Street.”

  “I’m afraid to see what you see.’

  “You just wait,” she huffed.

  “I already have, thanks to you.” He tugged at his hat, securing it to his head. “Believe me, pink is not my color.”

  Lacy smiled, remembering him doused in pink paint. “No. I guess it isn’t.”

  A comfortable silence stretched between them, and feeling relaxed, Lacy snuggled against the seat. The sound of the rain beating on the window beside her head was hypnotic. She hadn’t slept well for days; now the rain, the heat exhaustion she’d felt earlier and her ordeal before Clint rescued her, all overwhelmed her. Of their own will, her eyes closed.

  “And a husband? That isn’t part of your dream? Your vision?”

  His voice echoed as if through a long tunnel. “I don’t need a husband,” she answered without opening her eyes. “My dad ruined my mom’s dreams.” She yawned, snuggled deeper into the sleeping bag. “No man is getting the chance to take my dreams—” She yawned. “I want to be single-minded in my quest for God…like Paul.” She managed to lift her eyelids briefly and met Clint’s brooding, dark stare. Then her lashes drifted down and sleep captured her.

  In the darkness, Clint listened to the soft slow rhythm of Lacy’s breathing. Sleep had overcome her quickly; her words had slurred and then she was out. It seemed she was an all-or-nothing-type person. She ran on high-octane fuel, and when the tank ran out, the tank ran out. He found the idea touching. He knew that when she woke she’d be her raring-to-go, drive-a-man-crazy-self again…she did drive him crazy.

  The thought wasn’t at all what he wanted to think. He knew that the less time he spent in the cab of his truck with her, the better off he’d be. Listening to the gentle sounds of her slumber was not easy on his mind. He wanted the rain to stop. He wanted out of his truck, and no matter how many times his mind wondered about how it would feel to kiss Lacy Brown, he wanted to get her home and away from him.

  She was everything he didn’t want in a woman. Everything…well, maybe not everything. He liked her sense of humor, her love of life, her love of the Lord…. Not many women out there wanted to be like Paul. He smiled. She was like Peter though. In his mind’s eye he saw Peter stepping out into that turbulent water, not thinking about anything except getting to Jesus. Clint saw Lacy hopping over the side of the boat in the same manner she hopped over the door of her precious Caddy, intent only on getting to her Savior. The picture brought another smile to his lips.

  Here he was, stuck in a ditch in the dead of night, and he was smiling. Since Lacy had blasted into town, he’d smiled more than he’d smiled in years.

  He glanced into the darkness and studied the night. Did he want to smile? He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing in Lacy’s direction. Thoughts of his mother intruded suddenly. What if Lacy was just a flighty gal, who everyone thought was something she really wasn’t? What if everything she’d said was a lie?

  Clint knew he needed out of the truck. If she was the real thing, he needed to protect her from small-town talk. On the other hand, if she was every man’s nightmare, he needed to be away from her, because by no choice of his own, he’d been through one nightmare with his mother and all of her lies.

  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, assisting 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.

  Chapter Eight

  “Do 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, alr
eady 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.