Debra Clopton - Dream a Little Dream

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 mean 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?