Debra Clopton - Dream a Little Dream

The blaze in his eyes meant only one thing. He’d read the article.

Bob halted in front of her. “Well, Molly, I guess I’ve learned my lesson. If you’re anywhere in the room, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Molly glowered. He thought he knew her so well.

“Come on, Miss Journalist, let me see the notepads you’re holding. Who’re you picking on this week?” he asked beside her ear, his warm breath feathering along her neck.

He reached and slid the pencil from behind her ear. “Don’t write another word about me.” And then he strolled away down Main Street with a clink and a swagger.

And her pencil.

was a 2004 Golden Heart finalist in the inspirational category. She makes her home in Texas with her family.

The Lord guards the course of the just

and protects the way of his faithful ones.

—Proverbs 2:8

This book is dedicated to my editor, Krista Stroever. I count it a privilege and a blessed opportunity to work with you. Thank you for your knowledge, your vision and your prayers.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

Molly Popp noted that the cattle guard in front of her was like a giant billboard proclaiming in bold letters NO TRESPASSING, and yet, she was about to cross it anyway.

If she wanted a picture of the house that sat a hundred yards from the road—and she did—then she needed to cross this cattle guard, drive through the herd of bored-looking black cows and top the hill that left only the red rooftop visible from where she sat. Piece of cake.

She told herself Bob Jacobs, the owner, wouldn’t mind. After all, this was a win-win situation.

Then why did she feel she was about to do something she was going to regret? She’d never used photos before, but her editor thought a picture would add a new touch to her popular weekly newspaper column. And he’d thought Bob’s ranch would be a good image to start with…especially since he believed readers would be very interested in the ranch after her column came out tomorrow.

Gripping the steering wheel of her convertible VW Bug, she told herself to relax. But it actually wasn’t just the picture that was bothering her.

It was tomorrow’s column.

Had she stepped over a boundary with it?

Remember, win-win, mutually beneficial.

“Yeah, yeah…” she sighed, and tried to calm the churning pit that used to be her stomach.

Just do it, Molly! This is a good thing.

Reaching for her camera, she dipped her head through the strap, and made certain it was turned on, since there was no need to waste time once she was there—after all, this was a surprise.

That’s right! It’s a surprise, so perk up, Molly, and do this, think positive.

On that note, reassured somewhat, Molly pressed the gas and in a teeth-jarring instant shot across the row of steel bars of the cattle guard. Hair whipping in the wind, dust flying behind her, she guided her little Bug as it sped up the gravel road toward the crest of the hill. This was for Bob’s own good!

She hadn’t made it twenty yards when the formerly slow-moving, bored-looking cows in the field suddenly started trotting toward her, converging on the road ahead of her and surrounding her on all sides! It was as if she was the magnet and they were paper clips. Not wanting to hit the animals, she was forced to switch from gas to brake and within seconds she was at a complete standstill surrounded by the big curious bovines.

“Shoo!” she called weakly. This was not in the plan. Not the plan at all. It occurred to her too late that a topless car might not be the best thing when one was encircled by a group of cows. But she didn’t know what to expect from cows. She was a city girl and she’d just bought her new VW convertible because her friend Lacy had a convertible and seemed to have a lot of fun in it.

She’d never thought about drool. But there it was, dripping over her front hood from an all-too-inquisitive cow. “Shoo! Shoo!” she called a bit more strongly. “Go away.”

The herd just looked at her with eyes that said, yeah right. One cow started rubbing its side against her passenger door and another one joined in slobbering on the car. “Yuck!” she exclaimed, as yet another one licked her window then started to nibble on her windshield wiper. “Aw man, that’s just not right—” In reflex she honked her horn. So much for surprise. But she couldn’t let them eat her car. To her dismay they didn’t run from the blast of her horn. As a matter of fact they suddenly came closer. It dawned her as one stuck its head into the back seat that maybe a horn was used to call them to dinner. Hadn’t she seen that somewhere? When one started to place its head between her and the steering wheel, she screamed—to which the cow suddenly threw its head back and vamoosed away from the car.

Okay then! Maybe that was the way to get something done, Molly thought and opened her mouth to scream again but stopped when she heard the low rumble of thunder. She was startled to see the cattle part as if they’d been struck by lightning. She realized it wasn’t thunder she’d heard when her attention was drawn to a fast-moving object barreling down on her through the path between the departing cows.

One minute Molly was sitting behind the wheel of her car and the next instant she was scrambling to get into the passenger seat as the biggest, blackest humpbacked bull charged straight into her car door! Just ran into it like a runaway train!

The impact threw Molly into the air and her camera hit her in the chin, which she barely even noticed. She was too busy screaming!

The crazed mass of writhing muscle slammed into her car again and again while, heart in her throat, Molly clung to the headrest and struggled to get a grip of the terror threatening to immobilize her. When the car lifted on two wheels, she realized the road was built up from the ground slightly. The car was at a precarious disadvantage—toppling over from the leverage and power behind the bull’s colossal bashing was almost unavoidable. When it bounced back onto four wheels she knew she was going to have to make a run for it or chance getting squashed if it flipped.

The thought had just clicked into place when Bob’s white truck blasted over the top of the hill and raced in her direction. It was a sight Molly would never forget.

She was saved, she thought.

However, the raging bull swung its massive head to the side and glared at the intruder and to Molly’s dismay pawed the earth, spun toward the truck, then charged. Unable to believe that the bull would take on the huge truck, Molly sprang to her feet to stand in the seat. She was totally unprepared when in a flash the crazy animal changed its mind, whirled back around and attacked her car again. Molly sailed backward. Flipped like a pancake right out of the car, she hit the ground with a thud. The wind whooshed right out of her and she figured she was a dead duck.

“Sylvester!”

The shout was music to her ears as she struggled to stand, then slipped on a wet cow patty and almost went down again. Bob Jacobs sprang from his white truck, Indiana Jones to her rescue, whip cracking above his head—the answer to her prayers. Was he ever!