Dream a Little Dream. Debra Clopton
though she knew she looked as if she’d just eaten a lemon, still he said nothing, just looked at her. Looked at her, and she felt even worse than she’d felt….
“All right, already, would you say something!”
“Something.”
Oh! Molly felt her eyes go squinty of their own accord. So now he wanted to be cute! Ooh…she felt like the low of the low and he wanted to be cute! Fumes were wafting from her ears, she could feel them. She hoped he could see them.
“Look Molly, I think you’ve learned your lesson.”
Learned my lesson! And she had tried to apologize to the man! She crossed her arms and glared at the rude cowboy.
“I know I’ve learned mine,” he continued smoothly.
Her mouth fell open and a huff escaped before she could snatch it back.
He lifted an eyebrow. “I learned, if you’re anywhere in the room I’ll keep my mouth shut. It really wasn’t your fault. I mean, look at you. You have a pencil stuck behind your ear and a camera strapped around your neck. And I bet inside that backpack there’s a couple of notepads crammed full of ideas you’ve gotten between now and the time you woke up this morning. Hey, you may even have your laptop in there. I mean you wouldn’t want to go off without your precious tools.”
Molly glowered more. He thought he knew her so well.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” he said, tipping his Stetson back a bit with his thumb. “No.”
He smiled and her heart did a weird little sputter. His smile bloomed, showing his dimples, and his midnight-blue eyes flared. “I am right, aren’t I? How many story ideas have you had since you woke up? Let’s see, you told me once that you woke up at five every morning because you were the most creative at that hour, and now it’s nine. So you’ve had a few hours of free time…how about five ideas?”
Molly swung away from him. Here she’d thought he was a nice cowboy. He was just a smart aleck. It was a good thing she didn’t have a stick, or she would have whacked him with it! Without a backward glance, she strode down the street toward her apartment. Ooh! If she had a car she’d have made an explosive exit and driven away, leaving the maddening man in her dust. Choking.
“So how close am I?” he asked beside her ear, his warm breath feathering along her neck.
She jumped and swatted at him with alternating hands. How dare he follow her that close. She could feel him smiling. Gloating.
He stepped up beside her. She glanced mutinously at him, increasing her pace. A lot of good it did her—his legs were longer than hers. She paused—where had she been going? Oh yes, her apartment. Focusing, she started walking again. Faster. She could feel her thick ponytail swinging back and forth with every step she took.
“Come on, Molly, let me see the notepads. You’ve been up writing away as fast as your little fingers can fly. Who’re you picking on this week?”
Molly slammed to a halt and twisted to face him. Her ponytail slapped her in the face. “Okay!” She pushed strands of hair off her nose so he could see that she was glaring at him. “Okay! You’ve had your fun. You’ve made your point. Now go. Go away. Disappear. Shoo.”
He was standing, tall and lean. His powerful shoulders were squared and his handsome head tilted just enough to show off his triumphant grin and those dangerous dimples. Those mind-boggling dimples that made him look like country star Joe Nichols’s long-lost twin especially when mixed with his twinkling eyes. It made Molly want to…well, she wanted to—
He reached and took the pencil from behind her ear. “Don’t write another word about me.” Sliding her pencil behind his perfect ear, he spun on his heel and walked away. Strolled away down Main Street with a clink and a swagger.
And her pencil.
Molly’s hands were fisted tightly—the man was not the person she’d thought he was. Nope. There wasn’t a nice bone in his strong, lean body.
Bob rubbed his new pup’s tummy, watching as the little fella grinned up at him with no worries in the world. He was a cute little border collie that Bob had been waiting to pick up from its owner for the past six weeks. After having his little run-in with Molly he’d swung by for John Boy.
Patting the pup’s rump, Bob sent him scampering to play with a clump of long grass as he went back to work. Tugging his gloves back on, he glared up at the blaring sun and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his forearm. He’d been working like a maniac to strengthen the ancient barn that had seemed on its last legs when he bought the place. Bob wanted to make it hang in a while longer. So he was repairing it, using it to clear out his frustrations.
J.P. had offered to help him; Bob had declined. He’d needed the physical exertion. Needed time to think about what had happened that morning.
He’d been pretty hard on Molly.
He’d told himself she deserved his sarcasm, but he wasn’t sure he hadn’t gone too far. There was a fine line between anger and downright meanness. The truth was, he’d acted like a spoiled bully.
Because of it, here he was thinking of skipping church. The thought made him feel worse. But he wasn’t ready to face Molly or the Lord. Like you can hide from Him.
Of course he wasn’t fooling himself. He could feel the Lord watching him, feel that gentle whisper on the wind. Nope, there was no getting away from Him.
But Molly.
Well, that was a different story. When a guy sang in the choir like he did, there was no way to escape people. The congregation stared up at the choir members as if they were an alien species or something. Not everyone, but half of them. Applegate Thornton’s dour face came to mind, making him cringe.
But aside from that, he knew Molly would try her best to ignore him, and he would try his best to ignore her. But their efforts would be in vain, because in the long run sometime during the service they would lock eyes and he would feel compelled to apologize.
And frankly, he wasn’t ready.
He’d let her off easy before. Not this time.
Hoisting a one-by-six in place, he pulled his hammer from his tool belt, a nail from between his lips and in two steady swings drilled the nail into the board. He’d been right! Despite feeling bad about the bull attack he’d had completely legitimate reasons to be angry at Molly.
She’d been out of line. “You’re doggone right she’d been out of line. Way out,” he said to the wind.
Still. There was the part of him that had come out a little harder than he’d planned. He wasn’t completely comfortable about that.
And then there was that other thing—the part of him that kept thinking about how sweet she looked standing there all decked out in her reporter paraphernalia. Despite every reason he had to be turned off by that part of her, he always seemed to conjure up pictures of her looking cute and sassy with the chewed-up, pink-tipped pencil sticking out from behind her ear. But that wasn’t what was bothering him right now, either. Something had been wrong with her when he’d first glimpsed her coming around the corner of Prudy’s Garage. She’d looked sick.
She’d looked shaken. She’d looked green.
And he’d not cared in the least.
Now that bothered him. He’d wanted to make her feel as bad as he could so he’d worked on her guilt and ground it in. He had ignored the fact that the woman had been through a very harrowing experience. A bull the size of Sylvester was a terrifying sight from afar. Up close and personal, out-of-his-head angry like he’d been, Sylvester could tear through a person and never stop. As a rodeo bullfighter, Bob had seen plenty of bull riders mangled by the animals—he’d been there a time or two himself. In those situations the bulls were only doing their jobs. Bull riders wanted a good ride. A mean ride. The better the bucking, the higher the score.