She took five quick steps, hugged her right arm around her middle and toyed with the chain at her neck with the other.
She didn’t look at him, which was a good thing. Right. Then why was he watching her, waiting to catch her gaze sliding to his? Hoping to see some glimmer of the same infatuation for him that he found himself feeling for her?
It didn’t happen. Like a statue she stood, back ramrod stiff, and watched his cattle in the distance. He, on the other hand, knew what they looked like.
“So there they are,” she said, letting go of her charm to wave a graceful hand toward the animals.
“There they are.” He continued to study her.
She turned toward him and caught him. She tilted her head slightly and crossed a long jean-clad leg at the ankles. It made her appear even more lanky than she was.
His stomach clenched and he took a deep breath and tried to picture her in Europe somewhere, with a pencil tucked behind her ear as she interviewed some war-ravaged—he couldn’t even think the words much less picture it. She was too young. Too fragile. Too…he couldn’t think about it. Nothing about the situation seemed right to him.
“I saw the pictures in your office of you as a bullfighter. It amazed me. That one where the photographer caught you doing a somersault in the air over the bull— I guess he’d thrown you?”
“Yeah. I was actually taking the hit for the bull rider and it sent me flying.” He was glad to have something to talk about. Less thinking time.
“Did that one hurt you?”
“Not that one.”
“And that other one, the one where you were diving across the bull’s back? That photo was remarkable.”
“The rider was hung up. I was trying to get at the rope to free his hand.”
“You took a lot of chances.”
He shrugged and then wished he hadn’t when the pain shot through him. “I was quick, well trained. It was a calculated risk.”
She frowned. “Hey, buddy. You’re talking to a reporter. I do my homework on my subject matter. I saw the articles. The injury rate. The deaths.”
“Absent from the body, present with the Lord. Every job has its dangers. And I have an insurance policy that’s a one-way ticket to heaven. So what’s there to be afraid of?”
She smiled. “True. So then why did you quit?”
He leaned against the old oak tree and studied the distance. “It was time.”
“How did you know?” She tilted her head and the crease between her eyebrows deepened. “Really. What caused you to know?”
He studied her inquisitive expression. “You’re just full of questions. Is all of this off-the-record?”
She blushed again. “Everything about you is officially classified information from this moment on.” She held up her right hand and smiled solemnly.
He leaned carefully against the tree, taking some more weight off his bad leg. “There were several things, actually. First, I’d always dreamed of having a family, but I had too much junk inside me to think it was something I could ever really have. I was an angry kid.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Really? I would never in a million years have pictured you as angry. I mean other than getting angry at what I did to you, you’ve always been so cool and collected. How old were you?”
She appeared keenly interested in what he had to say. It was obvious why people opened up to her. “Nineteen when I started. I actually started out on a bull.”
“Riding a bull?”
“Don’t look so horrified. I never got hurt on top of a bull. Anyway, I was sitting on the fence after my ride, watching a buddy, and his hand got hung up. He was being dragged and tossed around like a dishrag and the bullfighters weren’t having any luck getting his hand loose. I was afraid for him, so I jumped into the fray, grabbed onto the rope and freed him. It felt natural, and after that I never went back on a bull. I realized I liked staring the bull down from the ground. Saving lives can be addictive.”
“And second?”
Always the reporter, she guided him back for the rest of the story. “I met the Lord. And surrendered my life to Him and suddenly I started thinking about settling down. About the family I’d dreamed of as a kid. There are some great Christian bullfighters out there, with families and the whole big witness for the Lord going on. But bullfighters are on the road constantly. I wanted a family and a life with them. Not just a life supporting them.” He paused to look around his ranch. “And I wanted this. I still have a lot to do, but it’s coming together.”
She smiled and moved closer. “How did you end up in Mule Hollow?”
He grinned at her. “I was on my way to the finals in Las Vegas and had a flat just outside of Mule Hollow. I’d traveled that road four years in a row and that year I decided to take a shortcut. Don’t know why I did it, but I did, and for the first time ever I had a flat tire. I was just finishing up putting on the spare when Clint stopped to see if I needed a hand. We got to talking, ended up driving to Sam’s for lunch and before I left, he offered me a job if I ever got tired of bullfighting.”
He and Clint had clicked immediately. “I thought about his offer and about Mule Hollow all the way to Vegas. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I’d been looking for the Lord to lead me to the right place and I liked the wide-open spaces and the people, few that there were.” He smiled. “When I got to Vegas, all through the event I had to force myself to focus. That’s not a good thing when you have people depending on you. You earn the opportunity to be a bullfighter at the Pro Bull Rider’s finals. The top bull riders in the association have to vote you in. They have to say they’re willing to trust their lives to the bullfighters they vote for. It’s an honor that I didn’t take lightly. If I couldn’t focus solely on their safety, it was time to move on. When the three days were over, I packed up my gear and came back to Mule Hollow.”
She was studying him. “When did you move your things here?”
He looked at the ground then lifted his head to smile at her. “Everything I owned was in the camper of my truck. When I was in between events I stayed with buddies. I was ready to settle down.” He knew what it was like to own nothing because you were just passing through.
“That quick?” She said the words as if they were a mystery.
“Yeah, that quick.”
Bob was sleeping. Molly stood over him, relieved to see the tension relaxed from his face as he rested. By the time they’d made the walk back to the house, Bob had been in a world of pain. His shortness of breath and the drawn look in his eyes couldn’t be hidden from her. She had to practically shove the medicine down his throat in order to get him to take it. But once he’d realized she wasn’t backing down, he’d given in. That alone spoke volumes for the way he was feeling. But the man acted as if he didn’t want to go to sleep.
She’d helped him settle into the recliner. They’d decided it might ease the transition from sitting to lying down which, as Bob had described the feeling, was a fate worse than death. Thankfully the recliner worked well.
Very gently she spread the soft blanket over him and again couldn’t resist lightly brushing a dark curl off his forehead. The man was brave, powerful and dear. Some woman was going to be so lucky—no, the word was blessed. Some lucky woman was going to be so blessed to become Mrs. Bob Jacobs. From a distance she’d believed he would be the perfect husband. Now she knew it firsthand. She wanted him to have the life he wanted. He deserved it.
Her heart suddenly ached and she turned away, walking back to the kitchen. She pulled her laptop from her backpack and sat at the kitchen table only to find herself analyzing his home once more instead of writing.
Home was so important to him. It was enough to make a girl want to settle down and join in on the dream.
Whoa! Back up there, Molly girl.
That thought sent her racing outside to a chair on the porch. She had a column to turn in and an article to wrap up—the distractions of Bob’s home were not going to let her take care
of business. Her mind set, she settled into a patio chair and focused on her work, not her increasing inner turmoil.
An hour later, she finished and reread her work. It was a little different. It had a different tone from her other work, but she liked it. She liked it a lot. Instead of the lighter airy voice she normally used for her Mule Hollow pieces, today there was a bit more introspection in her work. She had started the article exploring the reasons behind significant life-changing decisions. Namely, people reaching the crossroads in their lives when they decide the time has come to settle down. And even though the article made no mention of Mule Hollow or Bob, they had both planted the seed. Bob’s sudden and definitive decision to instantly change his life intrigued her. Plus, she’d originally been drawn to Mule Hollow because Lacy had moved here so quickly and decisively. Molly scanned the article, convinced people would be as interested as she was. She just needed to add in statistics on the percentage of people who changed their lives on whims. Then she would tweak it a bit and send it out. She knew immediately which magazine she would target first.
Making a living as a freelance writer was like juggling. In order to sell, she constantly kept numerous articles in circulation at all times. Not all would get picked up by magazines or periodicals, but she was developing relationships with several editors and gaining a feel for just the slant an article needed to fit each one. She made a decent wage and she sometimes wondered why she dreamed of writing grittier, more journalistic fare when the strong point of her work was the down-home charm she brought to the plate. She was very good at what she did. But was she good enough to make it in the world outside the safe boundaries of rural America?
And did she really want to? Had she dreamed a little dream as a frightened kid and that was merely all it was to be? All she truly wanted it to be?
Less than a week ago she’d not allowed herself to entertain this question. It had seemed that doing so was a sign she was giving up on her dream. And she would fight tooth and nail to hang on to that dream.
But suddenly it was a question she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.
She lowered her head and prayed for discernment. As a fairly new Christian, she was learning that God gave freely of Himself, but had she been asking the right questions?
Chapter Twelve
The following morning, Molly arrived at Bob’s to find him standing on the porch deep in discussion with Clint.
“Hey, Molly, how’s it going?” Clint asked as she carried John Boy up the gravel path.
“Bob,” she scolded. “What are you doing?” He looked as if he hadn’t slept at all. “You are pushing yourself too hard.”
He frowned. “Good morning to you, too, Sunshine.”
She knit her eyebrows together and glared at him. “Clint, he acts like he’s not all broken up inside.”
Clint pushed the rim of his hat up with his thumb and laughed. “Most cowboys have had a broken rib at some point. That’s part of the business. Hazard of the job. If we didn’t fight being down, we’d be in the wrong profession.”
Bob lifted an eyebrow at her. “See.”
Molly shook her head. They were like boys.
Clint looked from her to Bob. “Well, I’ll get going. I’ll check with you when I get back up to the barn, Bob.”
“Is something wrong?” She looked from Clint to Bob.
“Yesterday Clint noticed a couple a babies that weren’t nursing like they need to be so he’s about to go round them up and bring them to the pens by the barn so we can bottle-feed them.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Molly had been itching to get in a little ranch experience. Experience was the spice of a reporter’s words.
“Have you ever bottle-fed?” Clint asked.
“Nope. But it can’t be that hard.”
Bob grinned and Clint laughed hard.
“You sound like Lacy,” Clint said, his good-looking face lighting up at the mention of Lacy. “She didn’t think it would be difficult either until she did it.”
Did they think she couldn’t care for a calf? “Lacy bottle-fed a calf?”
His expression softened. “Oh yeah, after a bit. Now she treats those cows like kids. If they weren’t so big she’d load them up in that pink monstrosity of hers and take them on one of her beloved joyrides.”
Lacy loved joyriding in her pink convertible. She was the most spontaneous, life-loving, God-loving person Molly had ever met. She inspired Molly to let go and try new things, like feeding calves. Molly lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “Could I try feeding them?” She looked at Bob then back to Clint. “I mean, Bob can’t, and you have plenty of other more important things to do. Right?”
He studied her for a moment. “That’s up to Bob. I’ll be back.”
“Well, what do you think?” she asked, not liking the skepticism in Bob’s eyes
“They can get pushy and obstinate.”
“So, are you telling me not to attempt it?”
“No, of course you can do it. I just don’t want you taking on more than you can handle. Molly, I already hate the thought of you putting your life on hold for me. I don’t want you having to tend to my other problems, too.”
She plopped a hand to her hip. So that was it. “I thought we talked about this. I got you into this and I’m going to get you out of it. And if that includes taking care of some of your livestock then so be it. Besides, I want to find out what is so intriguing about the cowboy way of life. I want some hands-on experience. This will be fun!” Cowboys loved their jobs. It seemed they enjoyed going to work even though the work was long and hard. She was intrigued by that. She wanted to experience the why of it all. It would enhance her articles.
“All right,” he said. “If you’ll help me put on my boot, I’ll help you get the gear together and instruct you on how it’s done.”
“I’m sure Clint can show me. The barn is farther away than the tree was yesterday. There’s no need for you to push yourself that hard.”
“Molly. Stop. I’m not a baby, and no matter how much you try, I am not sitting around the house all day. If I’ve got calves that need attention, I’m going to at least check on them. Besides, I can’t let you have all the fun now, can I?”
It was like arguing with a fence post. “Fine,” she snapped. “But you have to at least take some aspirin.” He was a stubborn man. She was just starting to realize how much. If he wanted to hurt himself then she couldn’t stop him. She wasn’t his mother. She wondered about his mother. About his past. About why he’d been an angry teenager.
“Wait here,” she said. She stalked into the kitchen and yanked a bottle of over-the-counter pain medicine from the cabinet. She doubted that it would do any more than take the edge off his pain, but at least it would be something.
The man needed a keeper.
Problem was, she’d been his keeper for all of three days now and she was realizing that she liked the job way too much!
“Molly, you can’t be afraid of him if you want to catch him.”
Molly stood in the center of the stall, staring at the sleek black calf with the huge droopy ears. She had seen cattle out in the pastures, but hadn’t ever really paid a lot of attention to anything different about the Brahman breed except that they did have those huge humps on their backs. Now, standing in the pen staring at the good-size baby cow, she was realizing that with their floppy ears they looked like gigantic hound dogs. The baby standing in front of her was not a hound dog though. He was actually a deceptive little con artist.
And far, far from the tiny baby she’d expected. He had to weigh a hundred pounds, maybe two. Not a newborn as she’d been expecting. Looking at him, she felt like a city gal on the reality TV series Cowboy U.
He blinked at her and gave her an I’m just a little baby look. Oh sure, a con artist was exactly what he was, standing there pretending to be all shy and docile with his dreamy black eyes and his velvety nose when in fact she knew the truth.
Docile,
ha! After two embarrassing failed attempts at catching him, and one sore backside, she knew the hard truth. Despite the calm way he batted his big eyelids at her, he’d evaded capture with the ease of a greased pig! A big pig.
This was a kink in her offer she hadn’t thought about. “I guess I figured the little darlings were going to just come up and take the bottle from me. Imagine that. What a dunce I was. Just like I thought they were going to be about fifty pounds, too.”
“If it didn’t hurt so much, I’d laugh at that one.”
Molly shot him a glare. He’d been standing there on the outside of the fence calmly giving her directions as if he was choreographing a ballet or something. He had the patience of Job, but sadly she had no talent. Maybe she couldn’t do this.
She straightened her shirt, pushed her hair out of her face, sucked in her gut and stared down at the calf. She had not been beaten. Oh no. She’d tried cooing sweetly to him—that had got her slammed into the gate as he kicked and bucked away from her. She’d tried begging—that had got her pretty much the same response and a “please don’t beg my cows” groan from Bob.
So now she was trying the firm, calm approach.
“There, that’s better, Molly. You can do this. Just be more aggressive and I promise you before the night is over you will have fed both calves. Now show him who the boss is. Get dirty if you have to.”
“I am dirty. Didn’t you see me hit the dirt in that first fiasco?”
“Yeah, I saw it. Now that you aren’t worried about it anymore, you’ll get him. Pretend you’re Clint Eastwood.”
“What?” Molly glared at him again.
“Yeah, that’s it, Dirty Harry. Now walk him into that corner and grab him around the neck.”
Molly’s mouth dropped. “Are you telling me I look like Clint Eastwood? I mean, really, he’s a good-looking man, but I don’t think you’re getting Brownie points right now, buster.”
Bob did laugh at that and then groaned, and Molly cringed, seeing the pain on his face. But really, you didn’t tell a girl she looked like Dirty Harry.
Dream a Little Dream Page 13
