His mother wanted his forgiveness.
Clint sat at his desk, the letter, neatly typed and to the point, lay open before him…an answered prayer gone bad. After days of struggling with how he’d hurt Lacy’s feelings, he’d finally set his backbone straight and faced the facts. He needed to open the letter and try and face the past that threatened any future he might have with Lacy.
So he’d opened the letter.
And for the life of him, he didn’t know what to do now. He was a man used to making hard, quick decisions. He made them all day long. And now he felt like a lost little kid.
But he wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a full-grown man who needed to act like one.
But forgiveness… He stared out the window, across the open range his mother had left behind so easily. She’d walked away from him just as casually as she’d left the land. And she’d never looked back. Until now.
Clint rubbed his temple; the dull throb of a headache was setting in. He was a man. A churchgoing Christian man. A man who took pride in the fact that he’d overcome years of hurt and endless nights of boyhood tears, because God, ever the comforter, had wrapped him in His sheltering arms when he’d hurt the worst.
But forgive her.
Clint pushed away from his desk and stood. The knot in the pit of his stomach wasn’t from hunger, and the stinging around his eyes wasn’t from allergies. He was a man, all right, a man who hadn’t needed God’s comfort in a very long time.
Picking up his hat, he strode from the room and headed for the barn and a hard ride on a horse that didn’t want to be broken any more than Clint wanted to think about forgiving the woman he’d spent the better part of his life trying to forget.
He knew it would take more than a few nice words to break that colt, and one lousy letter wasn’t doing anything for Clint except opening old wounds.
“So what do you think about giving me some highlights?” Molly Popp asked Lacy.
It was Tuesday and they were looking at each other in the mirror. Molly had stayed on for a week while she finished her column about the town and the fair day. Lacy had been pleased when she’d walked in this morning. Clients would be sparse for the first few months, and for a person like herself, sitting was not a virtue she took to with alacrity.
“Highlights would look great on your chestnut hair.” She hoped she didn’t sound too anxious.
“Then go to it.”
Lacy grabbed a tray with all of her foils and went about setting everything up for the color process. She and Molly chatted rapidly about the fair and the ongoing plans to encourage women to establish themselves in Mule Hollow. Lacy was pleased that Molly had such a positive outlook on the idea. She had informed Adela that morning that she would be going back to Houston, closing out her small apartment there, and at the end of the month she would be back. She would then become the third new citizen of Mule Hollow since the newspaper ad had been placed, Lacy and Sheri being first and second.
Molly was a beauty. She had a mane of hair the color of burnt umber that flowed in waves of lively movement every time she talked or turned her head. She was very easy to talk to, which was probably a good thing since she was a reporter. Her eyes were an alert, vivid green. Her hands moved as she spoke and she had a habit of inclining her head to the right when she listened to what you were saying. She was a beautiful, warm and intelligent woman and she didn’t know the Lord at all.
“So you came all the way out here because God told you to.”
Molly’s inflection was proof enough that she couldn’t know God, or she would have known that what Lacy had done wasn’t all that unusual. People listened to God’s voice every day. Because she followed His direction, a few hundred miles wasn’t a big deal. She hadn’t had to sacrifice anything. She was no martyr and certainly no saint. Of course, depending on who you asked, she might be considered crazy. And from the look on Molly’s face, this is what Molly thought of Lacy.
“What’s the difference in my following Christ out here and you following your heart?”
“Well, hold on. Let me think this out.” Molly was different than Lacy in that she tended to think before she spoke. Lacy wondered if she hung out with Molly long enough, some of that habit would rub off on her.
“I guess the big difference is I came here first before committing to it. You on the other hand had already committed yourself, sight unseen. How could you do that?”
“Easy. It’s called faith. I trust my heavenly Father and am willing to go where He leads me. Now, because I did this doesn’t mean that I’m a saint or anything. I’m still plugging along, botching things up as I go. But I’m hoping and praying that I’m getting something right as I go.”
She had really been wondering about that for the past four days. With Clint, she hadn’t gotten anything right. Not so much in what she said but by her actions. And obviously she’d bungled that up hopelessly with her mouth and her heart.
Oh, how she’d missed him. How easily and subtly her heart had betrayed her. After she had thrown him out of her house—his house actually—she realized that she’d admitted that she had fallen in love with him. Her love had clicked into place like a natural fact. It was as if the love had been there since the beginning of time, waiting for Clint and Lacy to walk into it. Or at least Lacy…. Clint was the one who thought she reminded him of his good-for-nothing mother. Forgive me, Lord. I know I’m not supposed to judge, but I do judge her and I can’t seem to stop.
She had to forget about Clint and place herself in the present, walking Molly through her questions about faith. And while she was at it, she might need to work on putting her own faith back into action.
Chapter Fifteen
Clint slammed the door to his pickup and yanked his hat from his head. Every cowboy who worked for him was gathered in the stable yard, and he knew by their expressions that they were wary of his fury.
“Four nights and thirty more head gone.” At the rate they were going, he might as well get out of the cattle business of his own accord. He’d rather do that than be stolen blind by the bunch of parasites who’d chosen him as their host.
“Tonight I want them stopped. They’re coming in at the outer sections of land, and that’s where I want you. I want every inch of the outskirts of the ranch under surveillance. Forget about the interior—it’s the far sections they keep ripping off.”
“But what if they decide to come closer in tonight?” Merle Jansen asked. He was a skinny twenty-something with a gambling habit and a lazy streak that worked on Clint’s nerves. But tonight he had just asked the key question Clint had been waiting for. He’d finally figured out that someone was working from the inside, and his hunch had been that it was Merle. His question made Clint all the more positive that his hunch was right.
Clint leveled his gaze at Merle. “They haven’t come in yet, and I don’t see why they’d start tonight. Therefore,” Clint paused and swept his gaze across the group, including everyone, not wanting to cause Merle to think he suspected anything, “I don’t want any manpower wasted within the inner limits. You each know your stakeout positions. Be there. I’m not losing another heifer to these bozos.”
With that Clint stalked into the office and slammed the door. His plan was set. He was about to be rid of the thorn in his side, and all he had to do was wait and watch. Brady had been in contact with the Texas district field inspector and they were on the lookout for his cattle at auctions across Texas and New Mexico. Now all he had to do was catch Merle’s cohorts, and if his hunch was right, they were going to come right to him tonight.
Clint’s mind was full, he needed closure on the rustlers so he could think straight about all the personal issues bearing down on him. Inside information was the only way the rustlers were getting away with their stealing, time after time. It had been an accident that he’d seen them in action the night of the rainstorm. He’d realized finally that he wasn’t supposed to be where he was that night. He’d come in from his stakeout early, and Lacy hadn’t been in the eq
uation at all. She’d been an accident waiting to happen, with all of her midnight excursions, and the rustlers hadn’t figured on her random outings.
Lacy’s midnight drives worried him. It was only a matter of time before she ran into the rustlers again. His fear for her was all the more reason for him to want to finish them off tonight.
Tramping into the house, he hung his hat on the rack, removed his boots and his socks, padded into the kitchen. It had been a hard week. And he wasn’t talking about rustlers. He was thinking about Lacy.
Rolling his long sleeves up to his elbows, he turned on the water at the sink, and washed his hands, lost in thought as he scrubbed. Leaving the sink to yank open the icebox door for something to eat, all he could see was the look on Lacy’s face as she’d told him to leave her home.
Other than the letter from his mother, Lacy was all he’d thought about since she’d stopped talking to him Sunday afternoon. He’d dealt with the issue of the rustlers because he had to, but Lacy, sweet Lacy, had been on his mind as he’d wrestled with his plans for their capture.
He hadn’t meant to make her mad, to hurt her feelings. But as he was standing there watching her facial expression crumble, all of his feelings and fears rushed into combat in his heart. When he’d let her throw him out, he’d known exactly what he was doing and what he’d become. A coward.
She was like his mother. He’d known that from the first moment he’d met her. But she was all the good that his mother possessed, not the bad. And yet he’d still left, letting her believe he thought the worst of her. Because deep inside he was afraid no matter how much she loved the Lord, no matter how much she might love him, if he were lucky…one day she still might leave.
Watching those beautiful Pacific Ocean eyes of hers battle back a tidal wave of hurt, he’d realized how much more it would pain him to see her go.
God help me, but I couldn’t take it.
Ramming his hands through his hair, he left them there as he leaned his elbow against the refrigerator and let the war inside of him rage. What was he going to do? She couldn’t be changed. He wouldn’t want her to. It was that fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants kind of fun spirit that drew him to her. But it was the same spirit that scared him away.
Dear Lord, he prayed, standing there with the icy air surrounding him. I don’t know what to do. I need Your guidance. I need to let the hurt from my mother go, but I can’t find the forgiveness inside of me. I know that I can’t let the pain of yesterday continue to rule me today. And I know if I can’t forgive my mother, I can’t heal and move forward. I need Your help. I can’t do this on my own. I’m praying this as Lacy would pray, not my will but Your will, amen.
Clint stepped back from the freezer door and allowed it to close. He felt drained and had lost his appetite. His prayer hadn’t lifted him up. If anything, it left him feeling even more restless.
Empty.
But he knew where to find his answers.
Turning toward the counter, he stared at the Bible lying there. Waiting.
It had been a long time since he’d picked his Bible up out of want instead of habit. It usually lay on that counter everyday except Sunday mornings when he picked it up on his way out the door to church. Now picking it up, he walked into the den, turned on the lamp beside his chair and sat down.
And then he opened his Bible.
The wind whipped at Lacy’s face and hair as she sped down the deserted road. Easing up on the gas pedal, she checked the time on the dash—2:00 a.m. She’d been smokin’ the roads for an hour, and still, sleep remained out of reach.
Her life had seemed so focused only a few weeks ago…and now she was lost as to what she should do.
Even the driving experience, the wind in her face and the starry night couldn’t cheer her.
Depressed and getting pretty pitiful wallowing in misery, Lacy braked the Caddy to a jolting halt in the center of the road. “Why, Lord? Why did You let me fall in love with Clint Matlock?”
She had spent the week working in her salon in Mule Hollow. The place she had come to, to prove her love for God. The town she’d come to love. The town she’d felt she belonged from that first whisper of hope she’d sensed when she’d closed her eyes that first morning. She’d come to change, to prove to herself that she wasn’t a fly-by-night fence rider. And she’d failed. In every way.
A sound in the night broke through Lacy’s distress and she lifted her head from where she’d leaned her brow on the steering wheel. As she scanned the darkness, a chill raced up her spine. Given the screams of crickets and the burps of bullfrogs, Lacy wasn’t exactly certain there was anything else she could have heard. As she focused on her surroundings and drew away from her weeping heart, she became aware of how alone she was in the remote back roads.
She really wasn’t that far from home; as a matter of fact, Clint’s home also wasn’t too far away. But she was alone, it was after two in the morning and there was definitely something making noise out there in the dark.
There…a flicker of light. The faint murmur of an engine as the light bobbed then angled slightly away and went out.
Rustlers! The rustlers were back.
Lacy turned off her lights hoping they hadn’t spotted them yet, and then she guided her Caddy to the side of the road and turned off the ignition.
It was the same as the night she and Clint had encountered each other and the rustlers. The distance might not be as far though, and there was no mud. But she felt sure that just as they’d disappeared quickly that first night, they’d do the same tonight. They’d get away. They would be ghosts once more and it might be weeks before anyone saw them again. Clint would lose more livestock. Her adrenaline started pumping.
She climbed out of the car. “Not tonight, buckos,” she whispered to the darkness. She’d learned after the storm to dress for her late-night drives. She wore a soft cotton shirt, blue jeans, boots and socks. She was prepared for anything.
Her adrenaline was surging as she stared into the distance, through a stand of trees looming like a black wall in the darkness. She knew they were out there.
Clint’s thieves. Mule Hollow would never be clear to flourish if these rustlers weren’t stopped. Why, what single woman would want to settle in the country knowing the hills were alive with hoodlums. Already Molly had found out about the rustlers and was preparing for an article, but the only story Mule Hollow needed about rustlers was about their capture.
Her decision made, Lacy stepped toward the fence. “Dear Lord, help me,” she whispered. “I’m about to get into trouble.”
She had made it through the pasture, which hadn’t been an easy task in the dark. Especially when she started thinking about snakes, rattlesnakes to be exact. She prayed harder than she’d prayed in a long time, for protection from her stupidity. But she had forged on, knowing that Clint’s rustlers needed catching.
In the darkness she could hear the bawling of cattle and the soft curses of men. The air was heavy with the scent of pine. As she drew closer to the faint voices, she found a small cluster of pine trees and a gully she hadn’t counted on. Half rolling, half walking and crawling, she managed to make the steep embankment in one piece. At the bottom she had to cross a small stream that was barely to her ankles and then climb back up the other side. It was a hard treacherous climb in the dark.
When she finally crawled over the edge she lay sprawled on her back looking up at the heavens. She was breathing hard from the exertion of climbing up the ravine. The sounds of the cattle were much closer now and she had to ignore the first tremors of fear. They rolled over her in a wave.
There was no room for fear out here. This was for Clint. This was for Mule Hollow.
Even if Clint thought so little of her, she knew she had to do whatever she could to help him. She loved him.
That thought was what had kept her from turning back when visions of rattlesnakes threatened to overtake her courage.
She loved him, and even if there might never be a mirac
le and he could love her, she could do this for him and the town. Give me strength, Lord.
Knowing it was time to move again, Lacy sat up, rolled onto her knees then crawled to the trees. She could see lights now. Not big lights but flashlights. They bobbed at the back of a huge trailer into which two men were loading the last of the cattle.
She had made it just in time. They looked as if they were nearly finished, and she knew they would be driving off into the night. This would be the last anyone saw of them for who knew how long.
Her thoughts were rioting with her next move—when suddenly a hand slid over her mouth. Her heart stopped and before she could react, she was yanked hard against a rock-solid frame.
“Don’t make a sound,” her captor bit out in a gravelly hiss against her ear. “Don’t even move.”
What was this woman up to now? Clint held Lacy against his chest and waited for her to stop squirming. She was stronger than she looked and he had to hang on to her mouth harder than he wanted to in order to stop her from crying out.
“Lacy, it’s me,” he managed to grit out before she bit him. “Clint. Hold still, or they’re going to know we’re out here.”
Lacy stilled in his arms and turned her head to look into his face. She couldn’t see him in the shadows of the trees, but she nodded. He removed his hand. Immediately she spun around to face him. He had to bend down a bit to make out her angry whisper.
“You scared the daylights out of me. What are you doing here?”
“I want to know what you’re doing here.”
He was watching the movements of the men who were not more than ten yards away from them. They hadn’t heard them yet but Lacy’s zealous nature was not on their side.
“I’m trying to catch your rustlers.” As if suddenly remembering them, she turned quickly away from him. He moved in close behind her, wishing with all of his soul that she hadn’t shown up here. Not when he could smell victory over the cattle thieves.
The Trouble With Lacy Brown Page 15
