Dream a Little Dream

“Bob,” Applegate shouted. As usual, his hearing aid was off. “Says here you’re out to get married. Who’s the woman?”

“Come on, Bob,” Stanley added when Bob didn’t respond. “It’s all right there in the paper. Next thang ya know one of them gossip magazines is gonna have Bob’s picture plastered across it. Like a hunk of the month or somp-thin.”

Bob spun toward the two men. “Applegate, my picture isn’t going to be in any kind of magazine. This’ll be old news tomorrow.” If he could only be so lucky.

“I don’t know about that, son,” Stanley said, scratching his bushy eyebrow, his wrinkled face drooping with a doubtful expression. “My cousin’s son’s barber’s grandson’s friend had himself a little sit-chi-ation involving a dead body in his backyard and before you could blink, it was on the cover of the Inquirer. Right smack on the front. You remember that, App?”

“Huh?” Applegate shouted. “I thought that was yer sister’n-law’s, brother’s, ex-stepmother’n-laws father?”

“Hey, guys,” Bob held out his hands to halt the mind-spinning deluge, holding on to his temper as best he could. This was getting more ridiculous by the second. “I won’t be on the cover of any magazine. Thankfully I don’t have the same connections your friend had.”

Stanley shot him a glare of disbelief. “He wasn’t my friend! The twerp ended up going to prison. Turned out he killed the feller. Them magazines, they get it right ever once in a while—though I ain’t of the mind that Elvis is alive. That one I’ll have to see for myself.”

“You say Elvis is alive?” Applegate asked, having totally misunderstood what was being said. “Why, that’s about the all-fired most foolish—”

Pete showed up with Bob’s order on the dolly, and he didn’t slow down as he wheeled it outside. Bob wasted no time following.

“I’m telling you, Bob, if those two don’t get over this feud they have going on with Sam, I’m going to go mad! If it’s not one thing it’s another. I’ve about had all the—well, you don’t need to hear about my problems. I read the paper, too, and it looks like you have enough on your plate.”

Bob started stacking the heavy bags onto his truck. “I feel for you, Pete. At least I can load this up and hop in my truck and go home. If you don’t see me for a month or so you know where to find me.”

Pete, a large man, dusted his hands on the front of his well filled-shirt. “You really fixin’ to hole up at your place for that long?”

“I wish. If I could I would. Believe me, there’s plenty to keep me busy, the place was pretty run-down when I bought it. So I imagine I’ll be back and forth.” He paused and glanced at Pete. “Truth is, I’m about ready to commit a murder myself. This is just not right, Pete. You should have seen the fellas down at Sam’s. As long as I’m around, I’ll never live this down. I mean, how could she have said all that, that flowery stuff? The woman is trying to make a name for herself writing about all us cowboys and she’s clueless about how the boys take stuff like that and run with it.”

“Oh son, I feel your pain,” Pete laughed, slapped him on the shoulder then headed back inside to his own problems. Bob slammed his tailgate shut and paused to take a calming breath. That’s when he saw her. She was coming around the edge of Prudy’s Garage, greener than the snake she was.

Without another thought, he struck out down the middle of Main Street, his spurs clinking with every step.

It was time for a showdown.

Chapter Three

The familiar sound of clinking spurs drew Molly’s attention away from almost upchucking in the middle of Mule Hollow’s Main Street. The sight of mild-mannered Bob storming toward her sent a shiver down her spine.

The blaze in his eyes meant only one thing.

He’d read the article.

Retraction. There was nothing mild mannered about the man storming toward her.

She swallowed hard, sucking in a calming breath. It was time to face the music.

Bob halted three feet in front of her, legs spread shoulder-width apart and planted his hands on his narrow hips. If he’d been wearing a Western duster, she could envision him sliding the coat back behind the gun holster, his fingertips wiggling just above the pearly-white pistol, itching to draw and shoot.

Get a grip, Molly.

“H-hello, Bob.” She lifted her chin, trying not to look as queasy as she felt.

He lifted his chin in acknowledgment, or challenge, his eyes boring into hers. The man did have the nicest square chin and the most stunning eyes…angry eyes at the moment, but gorgeous. And why was she thinking about them, when he was obviously thinking about wringing her neck? “I, well I was just looking at my car. It’s a mess.” She laughed nervously as he raised an eyebrow. “Okay, okay.” She raked a trembling hand through her ponytail. “I see you’ve read the article. I’m sorry. I should have asked. I should have made certain that something like that, I mean, an entire article about you should have had your okay on it.”

He nodded. That’s all. Just a curt nod and nothing. Except that his eyes kind of glinted in the morning sunlight like a ping. An “and you call yourself a reporter” kind of ping.

“But,” she rattled on, “you said it and, and well, my editor had asked me to do an article that focused solely on you.” He lifted his eyebrow and guilt washed over her but she stumbled on. “It’s what a poll of the female readers said they wanted. I started not to do it. Really, but then I overheard you talking to Clint. I mean, really, there I was sitting in Sam’s minding my own business and you just happened to be sitting in the booth right behind me, talking about wanting a wife.” She was rambling. There was nothing pretty about rambling, but how else to tell the tale? She just hoped he’d understand. She smiled nervously.

He wasn’t smiling, so her smile melted like a deflating balloon into a pathetic shriveled pucker. “And well, I think you get the rest of the idea. It was just too coincidental to pass up. How was I to know you were about to tell me not to talk about you at all in my articles? I’m sorry. It was already on the presses,” she finished weakly.

Even 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.