Debra Clopton - Dream a Little Dream

But there was one problem that had steadily gotten worse over the past few weeks.

Molly had decided to use him as a step toward achieving her goal.

And that wasn’t going to happen.

He’d been putting off confronting her about mentioning him so much in her weekly column. However, finding her in his pasture was the last straw. It was time to talk.

“Why would you have a killer bull in the pasture in front of your house?”

What? Her words sliced though the silence that had built between them like an arrow toward a bull’s-eye. He focused and met her accusing gaze. “I don’t normally.” The woman had some nerve. He’d give her a little slack because she’d been traumatized by his bull. The thought of what that maniac would have done to her if he hadn’t heard the sound of her horn plagued him. But the fact of the matter remained that it was none of her business what his animals did on his private property.

Still he found himself explaining.

“Sylvester broke through a gate this morning and headed straight for his girlfriends. I had one of my other bulls in there while he was recovering from an injured foot and it was driving him mad. Clint Matlock and J.P. were on their way to help me corral him.”

“Corral him? He needs to be shot.”

Bob arched an eyebrow at her and her expression crumpled into remorse.

“Okay, maybe not shot. I’m upset. But he needs to be put far away from people. He’s an animal. And I mean a wild animal. He just charged me! Right there out of the blue. I mean I didn’t even see him coming! And his girlfriends, they tricked me. They were meandering across the road. I think they were doing it on purpose. I really do. To distract me and get me to stop. And then wham!”

She was talking faster than an auctioneer. The earlier terror in her eyes was replaced with anger. Even though she’d been in the wrong for trespassing on his land, thus endangering her life, Bob still felt a sense of guilt at her unfortunate morning.

But she’d been trespassing on his private property. Just as she’d been trespassing on his life with her newspaper articles.

He pushed the truth aside and tried to focus on getting her to town and out of his truck before he said something he might regret.

He thought about how this woman would do anything for a story. Her actions proved it. “You were taking pictures—”

“Excuse me?” she huffed. “I figured if I was going down I should go out with a story. I mean, when I was trapped inside the car thinking I was about to get killed, I could just see the humiliating headlines. You know the ones that would read, Reporter Molly Popp Found Squashed Inside Her Aptly Colored Banana-Toned VW Bug. Nope, I refused to go out that way.”

He glanced from the road back to her. “Everything with you is about a story. Do you ever just relax and enjoy the day without thinking about the next idea? The next angle? It’s not healthy.”

He looked back at the road. Her grunt of disapproval told him he’d stepped on her toes. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion. Not long after she’d come to town they’d gotten into it, lightly. It had started out as a quiet discussion they’d had one night after church. And like now, they’d agreed to disagree. It was the reason he’d known not to pursue the undeniable attraction he felt toward Molly.

And he was attracted, but competing with a camera and a computer were not his hopes and dreams for his life. Molly’s mind never ceased looking for an angle. And he had no plans to live every day with that kind of mind. Or everyday “agreeing to disagree.”

Through no choice of his own, Bob had been down that dead-end road once and he wasn’t about to go there again. Ever. No matter how much it had bothered him to shut down his interest in Molly.

Which brought him full circle with the little matter that needed to be resolved between them…her using him as her main story in the world of good press. Apparently the woman would crawl over anybody to keep her precious name in the paper. It was disgusting. Her syndicated column was about Mule Hollow, and everyone who lived there, but somehow, slowly, he’d become an increasing headliner.

“What are you going to do about my car?”

Her changing the subject wasn’t a surprise. She never wanted to talk about her inability to join in with the real world. He took the opportunity to try and back off from the agitation building inside him. He tried instead to focus on the right way to handle this, not his gut reaction.

“I’ll have Prudy come over as soon as we get Sylvester out of there and he can take it back to town. I’ll call my insurance agent first thing in the morning.” He glanced at her. “I am sorry about your car.”

And he was, but it was time to get a handle on the situation. This showdown had been building for weeks, a showdown he prayed about and thought would be resolved for him. But clearly the Lord had decided to leave the fixing up to him. And he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Bucking up his resolve, he directed the big truck toward the side of the road. This was not something to discuss while driving. He slid the gear into park and turned toward Molly.

“What are you doing?” she asked, swinging toward him, surprise written in her reaction.

Bob shook his head, amazed at her ability to seem so naive. The best thing for him to do before he chickened out and let those big mossy eyes work on him was to get right to the heart of the matter. “Why are you writing about me so much in your column?”

She blinked. “I write about everyone.”

“Not like you do me. And why are you snooping around my house? I’ve had it, Molly.” He rubbed his temple, trying to focus on his agenda. “It’s bad enough you’re writing about my personal life for all the world to see, I don’t need you putting pictures of me in there, too. Matter of fact, that’s what this is about. I don’t want you writing about me anymore. Got that?” There, that should do it.

She could go her way and he could go his. And maybe the nagging interest he was continually needing to redirect away from her would vanish once and for all.

Okay, so maybe she deserved the accusatory scorn that she saw in his eyes. To an extent. She raked a hand through her hair, remembering it was in a ponytail only after her fingers snagged against the beaded scrunchy. He’d just told her not to write about him anymore!

“What have I written about you that’s so terrible? I’ve only generalized about what a nice guy you are. Just like I do about all the cowboys in Mule Hollow.”

He snorted in disbelief, his dark eyes narrowing as the color changed from navy to almost black like a cloud darkening open water.

“Are you joking? I’m showing up in the papers more than the President. I can read, you know. And even if I couldn’t, everybody in Mule Hollow gets a real treat quoting me every line you’ve written about me. Enough already.” He took off his straw Stetson and held it between his tanned hands in an advertisement-worthy pause before sweeping his curls off his forehead and settling the hat back on his head.

Molly swallowed, watching the restraint in his movements. He was really mad. She’d never seen Bob mad. The guy was the mildest-mannered man she’d ever met, which was one of the many qualities that had attracted her to him in the first place. But this was ridiculous….

“Seriously, what have I done that is all that bad? Tell me.”

“Cassie.” He bit the word out and nailed her with frank eyes.

“Cassie? I can’t believe you’re mad about Cassie! She’s a sweet girl. You made a great impression on her.”

“I like Cassie. But she stalked me for a month if you remember!”