Dream a Little Dream

The sight of Bob Jacobs storming toward her sent a shiver down Molly Popp’s spine.

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.

DEBRA CLOPTON

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

Dream a Little Dream
Debra Clopton

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.

Contents

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

Chapter One

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!

Like the rodeo bullfighter he’d once been, the gorgeous cowboy was in his element, charging the startled brute. “Sylvester, get out of there. Move on!” His command was as sharp as the crack of the whip he wielded with such skill.

Molly relaxed a little, still standing in the bull’s sights but reassured by the authority in Bob’s voice and the steel in his eyes. He was a beautiful sight to see, working the whip around, letting it explode once more just above Sylvester’s head.

Mild-mannered Bob is a hero!

Her hero.

Suddenly adrenaline pumped through her veins like water churning over Niagara Falls. Modern-day Knight To The Rescue! The headline flashed across her brain, bumping the shock out of the way and driving her to react. This was good. Really good! Instantly the reporter in her took over and, despite the danger, she lifted her camera and started snapping shots.

Watching Bob in action through the viewfinder of her camera proved she’d been right all along. She’d known the first day she’d arrived in Mule Hollow and watched him carry hay bales down Main Street that he was the kind of man dreams were made of. Once she’d come to know him, she realized it was true in more ways than just his good looks. The easygoing cowboy had a heart as big as Texas.

And he was going to make her dreams come true. The belligerent bull snorted and swung toward her, a menacing glare in its eyes—

Retraction—Bob was going to make her dreams come true after he finished saving her life!

Sylvester had literally trampled Molly’s tiny car and, as Bob flung himself between the irresponsible reporter and the unpredictable animal, he thanked the Lord for looking out for those without sense enough to look out for themselves.

“Put that camera away,” he shouted, unable to believe she was taking pictures! On the other hand, he couldn’t remember seeing her without her camera except during church on Sunday, or when she had her laptop or pen in her hand. The woman was always working on a story.

Her reply was to snap some close-ups of him. Reporters! Disgusted, he grabbed her arm and pressed her behind him. “Back toward the truck. Now,” he demanded. “Sylvester’s not finished, he’s only deciding what he’s going to stomp next—you, me or the car again.”

At last, letting the camera swing from the strap around her neck, she locked her hands around his biceps, cutting off all circulation she squeezed so tightly.

“I thought you knew him!” she gasped. “I thought you could control him. I mean, he listens to you, right?” Her breath brushed his ear as she stretched to her tiptoes behind him, her camera digging into his back.

“I own him. Big difference.” He angled his arm behind him, pressed his hand to her side and directed her toward his truck, keeping his eyes glued to Sylvester, his whip ready for action. “Believe me, when a two-thousand-pound animal goes into a rage no one controls him if he doesn’t want to be controlled.”

“C’mon just back up, nice and slow,” he urged, instinctively wanting to reassure her.

She nodded against his shoulder. Her hands moved to his waist clutching like vise grips, and her chin dug into his shoulder as she stood on tiptoe watching Sylvester. They’d almost made it without stumbling over each other when Sylvester lowered his head, turned back toward the poor car and charged again.

The impact was so unforgiving that the animal and car both lifted from the ground for a solid second. The sound rocketed through the air like an explosion.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Molly cried, springing toward the animal like a wildcat protecting her cubs. It was a reflex reaction, Bob understood as he managed to catch her bolting past him. Scooping her around the waist, he hauled her back. “Oh no, you don’t,” he grunted when her elbow rammed him in the ribs.

“Let me go!”

“Ouch,” he grunted again when her heel hit him in the shin. “I’m not going to let you commit suicide. Not after all the trouble I just went through to save you.”

“But my car!” She waved toward the calamity.

Still clutching her around the waist, he spun them both around and lifted her through the open door of his truck. She was still struggling as he shoved her inside. Behind them the crushing sounds of Sylvester battering her car reverberated through the air, a reminder of what could have happened to Molly. Thanking the Lord again, he climbed in behind her, tossed his whip to the dash and grabbed the gearshift.

“Wh-what are you doing?” She pointed past him, her fingers fluttering in front of his nose as she sputtered.

“I’m getting you out of here.” He paused, glancing at her for the first time as he pressed the gas pedal.

“But you can’t. My car! What about my car?” She yanked her hand back and glared at him with huge eyes.

“Sylvester’s not finished with your car. And right now all I care about is keeping you safe and letting him calm down. What were you doing in my pasture anyway?”

They’d reached the cattle guard only twenty feet from where Molly had met Sylvester. She twisted onto her knees in the leather seat to watch her car take another hit through the back window. “But,” she gasped weakly, latching onto his shoulder again.

“That’s all I can do at the moment.” He felt bad for her, but it was only a car. She should be glad it wasn’t her out there getting plastered.

She met his gaze and in the same movement lifted her camera and started snapping shots through the back glass.

What a breed! Reporters never ceased to amaze him—it was always about the story. And yet, he’d seen the terror in her eyes, knew she was coping on her own terms.

He still didn’t like it.

At the road, she finally stopped clicking pictures and slumped into the seat facing forward, her foot tapping a rapid beat on the floor mat. She was no doubt figuring all the different ways she could twist this story to meet several papers’, magazine and blog formats at one time. She should be in shock, but no, it was the story that obviously had her mind whirring!

The next few miles were ridden in silence. Bob struggled to calm down before saying anything else he might regret. From the corner of his eye he studied Molly.

Molly Popp.

He’d noticed her the first day she’d driven into Mule Hollow several months back. He’d been helping set up Main Street for the town fair when she stepped out of her car and sent his world spinning.

Who wouldn’t have noticed her? She had long chestnut hair that shimmered in the sunshine with every purposeful step she took. Today it was pulled back into a ponytail, a few strands fluttering around her face, drawing attention to the wide green eyes that dominated her delicate features.

Those had been his first impressions of the beauty at his side. She was a nice person. A stunning woman. But it hadn’t taken long to realize she wasn’t the woman for him. He’d momentarily forgotten she was a reporter. A fact that emerged after only a few conversations with her. There was no missing the sparkle in her eyes as she talked about her work. It was clear that Molly’s career was first and foremost in her mind—which was her prerogative. But he’d stepped back quicker than a cowboy hearing the rattle of a Texas rattlesnake.

His prerogative was to look for a wife. He wasn’t interested in playing the field and dating for the sake of dating. He wanted to settle down with a traditional woman—a wife who would focus on him, the children they would have and the life they would build together.

Yep, Bob might have rescued Molly because she needed rescuing—and he couldn’t help but enjoy looking at her—but he knew where to draw the line on his emotions. For months, that line had been drawn right there on the ground in front of Molly Popp. Reporter.

But there was one problem that had steadily gotten worse over the past few weeks.

Molly had decided to use him as a step toward achieving her goal.

And that wasn’t going to happen.

He’d been putting off confronting her about mentioning him so much in her weekly column. However, finding her in his pasture was the last straw. It was time to talk.

“Why would you have a killer bull in the pasture in front of your house?”

What? Her words sliced though the silence that had built between them like an arrow toward a bull’s-eye. He focused and met her accusing gaze. “I don’t normally.” The woman had some nerve. He’d give her a little slack because she’d been traumatized by his bull. The thought of what that maniac would have done to her if he hadn’t heard the sound of her horn plagued him. But the fact of the matter remained that it was none of her business what his animals did on his private property.

Still he found himself explaining.

“Sylvester broke through a gate this morning and headed straight for his girlfriends. I had one of my other bulls in there while he was recovering from an injured foot and it was driving him mad. Clint Matlock and J.P. were on their way to help me corral him.”

“Corral him? He needs to be shot.”

Bob arched an eyebrow at her and her expression crumpled into remorse.

“Okay, maybe not shot. I’m upset. But he needs to be put far away from people. He’s an animal. And I mean a wild animal. He just charged me! Right there out of the blue. I mean I didn’t even see him coming! And his girlfriends, they tricked me. They were meandering across the road. I think they were doing it on purpose. I really do. To distract me and get me to stop. And then wham!”

She was talking faster than an auctioneer. The earlier terror in her eyes was replaced with anger. Even though she’d been in the wrong for trespassing on his land, thus endangering her life, Bob still felt a sense of guilt at her unfortunate morning.

But she’d been trespassing on his private property. Just as she’d been trespassing on his life with her newspaper articles.

He pushed the truth aside and tried to focus on getting her to town and out of his truck before he said something he might regret.

He thought about how this woman would do anything for a story. Her actions proved it. “You were taking pictures—”

“Excuse me?” she huffed. “I figured if I was going down I should go out with a story. I mean, when I was trapped inside the car thinking I was about to get killed, I could just see the humiliating headlines. You know the ones that would read, Reporter Molly Popp Found Squashed Inside Her Aptly Colored Banana-Toned VW Bug. Nope, I refused to go out that way.”

He glanced from the road back to her. “Everything with you is about a story. Do you ever just relax and enjoy the day without thinking about the next idea? The next angle? It’s not healthy.”

He looked back at the road. Her grunt of disapproval told him he’d stepped on her toes. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion. Not long after she’d come to town they’d gotten into it, lightly. It had started out as a quiet discussion they’d had one night after church. And like now, they’d agreed to disagree. It was the reason he’d known not to pursue the undeniable attraction he felt toward Molly.

And he was attracted, but competing with a camera and a computer were not his hopes and dreams for his life. Molly’s mind never ceased looking for an angle. And he had no plans to live every day with that kind of mind. Or everyday “agreeing to disagree.”

Through no choice of his own, Bob had been down that dead-end road once and he wasn’t about to go there again. Ever. No matter how much it had bothered him to shut down his interest in Molly.

Which brought him full circle with the little matter that needed to be resolved between them…her using him as her main story in the world of good press. Apparently the woman would crawl over anybody to keep her precious name in the paper. It was disgusting. Her syndicated column was about Mule Hollow, and everyone who lived there, but somehow, slowly, he’d become an increasing headliner.

“What are you going to do about my car?”

Her changing the subject wasn’t a surprise. She never wanted to talk about her inability to join in with the real world. He took the opportunity to try and back off from the agitation building inside him. He tried instead to focus on the right way to handle this, not his gut reaction.

“I’ll have Prudy come over as soon as we get Sylvester out of there and he can take it back to town. I’ll call my insurance agent first thing in the morning.” He glanced at her. “I am sorry about your car.”

And he was, but it was time to get a handle on the situation. This showdown had been building for weeks, a showdown he prayed about and thought would be resolved for him. But clearly the Lord had decided to leave the fixing up to him. And he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Bucking up his resolve, he directed the big truck toward the side of the road. This was not something to discuss while driving. He slid the gear into park and turned toward Molly.

“What are you doing?” she asked, swinging toward him, surprise written in her reaction.

Bob shook his head, amazed at her ability to seem so naive. The best thing for him to do before he chickened out and let those big mossy eyes work on him was to get right to the heart of the matter. “Why are you writing about me so much in your column?”

She blinked. “I write about everyone.”

“Not like you do me. And why are you snooping around my house? I’ve had it, Molly.” He rubbed his temple, trying to focus on his agenda. “It’s bad enough you’re writing about my personal life for all the world to see, I don’t need you putting pictures of me in there, too. Matter of fact, that’s what this is about. I don’t want you writing about me anymore. Got that?” There, that should do it.

She could go her way and he could go his. And maybe the nagging interest he was continually needing to redirect away from her would vanish once and for all.

Okay, so maybe she deserved the accusatory scorn that she saw in his eyes. To an extent. She raked a hand through her hair, remembering it was in a ponytail only after her fingers snagged against the beaded scrunchy. He’d just told her not to write about him anymore!

“What have I written about you that’s so terrible? I’ve only generalized about what a nice guy you are. Just like I do about all the cowboys in Mule Hollow.”

He snorted in disbelief, his dark eyes narrowing as the color changed from navy to almost black like a cloud darkening open water.

“Are you joking? I’m showing up in the papers more than the President. I can read, you know. And even if I couldn’t, everybody in Mule Hollow gets a real treat quoting me every line you’ve written about me. Enough already.” He took off his straw Stetson and held it between his tanned hands in an advertisement-worthy pause before sweeping his curls off his forehead and settling the hat back on his head.

Molly swallowed, watching the restraint in his movements. He was really mad. She’d never seen Bob mad. The guy was the mildest-mannered man she’d ever met, which was one of the many qualities that had attracted her to him in the first place. But this was ridiculous….

“Seriously, what have I done that is all that bad? Tell me.”

“Cassie.” He bit the word out and nailed her with frank eyes.

“Cassie? I can’t believe you’re mad about Cassie! She’s a sweet girl. You made a great impression on her.”

“I like Cassie. But she stalked me for a month if you remember!”

Molly’s mouth fell open. “Hey, most men would love to have a beautiful young woman chasing after them. And besides, I did hear you say, right there in Sam’s Diner, that you’d specifically bought your own ranch so that you would be ready when the Lord sent you a wife. You said that you were going to step out on faith and show the Lord you knew He had someone special out there for you. You said you were going to settle down and get prepared.”

Bob frowned and yanked his hat off again. Those distracting dark curls drew her attention once more and Molly found her gaze lingering there, until he moved his head and his navy eyes slammed into hers. “I said that to Clint Matlock in confidence. You were eavesdropping—”

“Eavesdropping! Are you kidding! You were sitting in Sam’s diner. Everyone heard you say it.”

“That may be true.” He gritted the words through barely moving lips. “Still,” he snapped, on a second wind, an angry wind, “it doesn’t give you the right to think you can plunk me in the middle of your stories like a poster boy for some lonely cowboys foundation. I said I was getting ready for the wife God was going to send me. What makes you think God needs your help? Because I certainly don’t.”

“Now that’s not fair. God’s using me.”

“And you’re using me.”

That tripped her up for a moment. True, her column had been picked off the wire by a huge number of newspapers across the country. The interest in what was happening in Mule Hollow was a phenomenon! Though she’d already gained some praise and recognition for one of her personal segment articles prior to moving to Mule Hollow, and her magazine article sales had been enough to help pay the bills with their meager success, the Mule Hollow phenomenon had put her on the map. After she’d seen the ad and decided to relocate here and started her column about Mule Hollow, well, things had been great. Everyone was interested in the dying little town that had done a national ad campaign for wannabe wives.

Even magazines that never had given her the time of day were suddenly interested in what she had to say—on the subject of Mule Hollow as well as other topics. It was a dream come true. She couldn’t deny it.

Of course, in the big world of media Molly realized only her pinky toe was in the door and the overnight recognition could be gone in a flash. But to say that she was using him…well, it sounded so wrong. “It’s a win-win situation,” she said in her defense—and it was true. “I get the recognition I need to move up in my career while you and the other fellas get invaluable exposure that will lead would-be wives to our little town. I’m helping you fulfill your dream.”

Looking at Bob sent her own heart into that all-too-familiar jig. The Bob jig, as she referred to it. The guy didn’t even know the effect he had on women, which was part of his appeal. He wasn’t a spotlight kind of man. He was a little shy about all the recognition he was getting. That was what the fuss was really about, she reassured herself.

She knew he realized her work was helping Mule Hollow. There was life in the little town now, when only months ago the place had been dead. The fact that Adela Ledbetter, Norma Sue Jenkins and Esther Mae Wilcox had put in motion a plan to revive their beloved town had ultimately led to the influx of husband-hunting women. Molly was meant to be here. Her help was crucial. The fact that her articles had caused a young woman like Cassie, without home or family, to hitchhike to Mule Hollow in the hope of finding what she’d never had…brought tears to Molly’s eyes.

For her, it had been Lacy Brown—now Lacy Matlock—who’d inspired her to move to the town and change her life.

The wacky hairdresser had recognized her mission in life when she’d read the first ad and instantly moved to Mule Hollow to open her salon and help bring life to the town. She’d believed, and rightly so, that the women would read the ads about a bunch of lonesome cowboys and that they would come. And she’d believed they would want to look good while trying to find the right cowboy. But most important, she believed that while they were getting all spruced up in her salon, she would be able to witness to them.

And it was happening. Molly had been the first person Lacy had talked to about the Lord. That conversation had changed her life.

Molly had accepted the Lord into her life and begun to build a personal relationship with Him that very day. She was stumbling all the way, but trying, as Lacy had shown her by example, to put God first in everything she did. Not an easy thing to do. Especially when someone like Bob didn’t fully appreciate the good she was striving to accomplish. The man had said he wanted a wife. She was simply trying to help him!

And she wouldn’t do that for all the bachelors. Oh no, some of these cowboys were lonesome for good reasons! No ambition, partying all the time, not an ounce of respect for a lady…but the ones like Bob—especially Bob—were wonderful guys and she only wanted to help.

Her thoughts whirring, she met his dubious stare straight on, his denial ringing in her ears. He might not think he needed her help, but God had called her to Mule Hollow for a reason. Maybe at first coming to the quaint little town had been about career strategy, but that had lasted about a week. She had started seeing things differently the instant the Lord entered her heart.

Women out there needed good men.

Decent men.

And that fundamental realization had set off a light bulb in her brain. It didn’t take long to see Mule Hollow was packed full of wonderful, God-loving men. And like Lacy kept telling her, God had His reasons for bringing her here. What better reason than to use her talents to showcase the good guys? Lead the women to water as Norma Sue was fond of saying. So that was what she was doing before she moved on to her next step up the ladder of success. She’d been showcasing all the cowboys. She couldn’t help it that readers loved Bob.

“Well,” Bob said, bringing her wandering brain back to the present. “God might be using you, but, like I said, I’m not in need of your services. The conversation I had with Clint was none of your business.”

She expelled a slow breath, fighting the urge to glare at him. “I’m only trying to help,” she reiterated, starting to feel nervous. Really nervous.

He met and held her gaze with one that said he disagreed. She narrowed her eyes, refusing to back down. She couldn’t. She truly hadn’t done anything wrong. Had she?