Dream a Little Dream (11 page)

He smiled, and for the first time in days his dimples showed.

Molly's heart missed a beat. Oh but the man had to-die-for dimples.

She suddenly had to wonder if she was as daft as everyone had pegged her. Bob was the perfect man and she was trying to pawn him off on someone else. The stack of envelopes in his dining room had been clam
oring for her attention since she'd walked into his home. And now, looking at his dimples, she had to wonder about those letters.

At first she hadn't seen them because of the way the formal-style dining area was separated by a wall from the more open kitchen and great room. However, the malodorous smell wafting from the doorway had pressed her reporter button and drawn her to see if her nose was telling the truth. Were there a hundred women crammed into Bob's dining room? Women who obviously hadn't read the memo about perfume! Or was there something else going on behind that wall? The scent was ghastly to say the least.

It had looked like a mound of giant-size confetti, and her fingers had immediately itched to open a few of the letters. Well, the scent kind of made her itch all over, adding to her impatience to see exactly what kind of correspondence she'd garnered for him. They couldn't all be weird wackos despite how they smelled.

And deep inside, despite how abysmal she felt about having caused this unfortunate situation for Bob, she was still curious. She was a reporter, after all.

But they were Bob's letters, not hers, to read. To smell, but not to read. So she hadn't read any.

Yet.

And here she was wondering why she was trying to give him away and not fighting for his attentions herself.

She realized he was watching her, waiting as she let the spoonful of soup float between them.

“You zoned out on me.”

“Sorry. I was thinking.” She offered the spoon.

“About?” the word came out muffled as he chewed on a potato.

“The letters,” she squeaked. “Have you read any of them?” She knew it was a bad thing to bring up, but her curiosity always got her in trouble. She cringed as his scowl slammed into place. “Sorry. I was just curious. I mean true, Tammy was a little off-the-wall. And yes, the others, too. But Bob, think about it—there could be some really nice letters in there.” She plunged onward, reminding herself that career came first so she had to stop letting all this matchmaking talk go to her head.

“Forget it, Molly. I'm as likely to read the letters as I am to sign up for one of those online dating services.”

“Hey, I happen to know several friends back in Houston who had great luck with online dating.”

“Really.” Total disbelief sounded in his voice.

“Yes, really. And that guy on TV says things are great—”

“And I'm really happy for him. But don't get any ideas about signing me up. Thank you very much, you've done enough.”

The look he gave her said
no debate.
So they were at a standoff. She lifted another spoonful of soup and held it out to him like a peace offering.

After a second he took it. A man's growling stomach obviously overrode irritation.

“Could I read a few?” she asked, hoping he didn't bite her head off. “I mean, really Bob, they did take the time to write them.”

“Molly, you can read as many as you want as long as you promise to throw them away so I don't have to
smell them anymore. And as long as you promise not to read any of them to me.”

She rammed the spoon into the bowl and stared at him. “But, let's just examine the possibility that your Miss Right is in there. It could happen. Like in the movies—”

“Believe me, Molly, I've seen the movies and there is no way I'm going to the top of the Empire State Building or anywhere else. So forget it.”

Molly held her tongue and offered another bite of soup. She wasn't exactly sure what her problem was, but the fact that he was so closed minded wasn't helping.

Besides, God could have used her to bring him together with his one true love.

Even if the thought suddenly settled in her stomach like a lump of lard.

“Molly, read my lips. Forget about it. You got that? Forget about it.”

 

Bob was sleeping. Knocked out actually. Molly had fed him and gotten his single cowboy boot off. After much tugging, she'd realized there was an art to getting off a boot. She was not an artist, but she'd finally managed it without crippling his good foot. Then she'd helped him prop both feet on the end of the couch, cringing herself as she'd watched him slide into a reclining position on the sofa. It had been horribly painful. It had assured her that she never wanted to experience broken ribs herself. Finally, when the pain medication had started to take effect, she'd brought in John Boy and held him away from Bob's ribs as he petted the wriggling puppy. She found it adorable the way he'd talked to the puppy like a baby.

After the medicine caused Bob to drift into painless slumber, she'd covered him with a lightweight blanket then almost broken her own neck getting to the hoard of mail!

“Where do I start?” she asked the puppy sitting in her lap. He seemed to be studying the pile, too. He sneezed as if to say stop dillydallying and just do it! So she did.

She closed her eyes and reached for one, an odd combination of anticipation and dread taking hold of her. When she opened her eyes, she was clutching a pink envelope with kisses all over it.

“Oh, John Boy, how cheesy is that! Didn't these women read my column? Don't they know that's not Bob?” There was no sense opening one she knew right off the bat wouldn't be right for Bob, so she dropped it to the floor, closed her eyes and grabbed again.

This time she peeped through one eye and was relieved to see a tasteful blue envelope, devoid of any garish adornment. “Okay, now we're talking.” The newspaper hadn't given out Bob's physical address. Instead the letters were addressed to “Bob Jacobs, C/O General Delivery, Mule Hollow, Texas.” She still had to force away her guilt as, her heart fluttering, she tore the first one open and started reading aloud.

And almost fell out of her chair!

“Whoa! John Boy, cover your ears baby.” She glared at the words on the paper. Brother, could looks be deceiving!

“
Soap.
That's what this woman needs, John Boy,” she gasped. The puppy was looking up at her with curious eyes. “What was she thinking to write
that?
”

Feeling really cheap, Molly folded the offensive letter, fumbling while cramming it back in the envelope. She glanced at the kissy-lipped one. Maybe it might be better—nah. She just couldn't go there.

She opted instead for a red one with hearts all over it. Thinking positive, she tore it open.

Molly stopped reading. She sounded decent, maybe sweet. Feeling like an interloper, she folded the letter back up and placed it on her right side, away from the other letters on her left, which she would call the No Way In My Lifetime, Pal pile. It hit her then that she wasn't an interloper; she was Bob's advocate.

Yes. That was exactly what she was!

Which meant she had a serious job to do. Molly scanned the pile more intently, a sense of purpose replacing some of the guilt she'd been feeling. She'd come here to make up to Bob for what had turned into a circus. But, if Miss Right was in that pile, then it was up to Molly to find her and give her the chance she deserved. The chance Bob deserved.

John Boy barked and grinned up at her as if sensing she'd hit upon the truth, telling her this meant business.

Indeed it did. Molly ran a hand down the puppy's back, sucked in a cleansing breath, expelled all the
negative doubts and misgivings. Coughing on the smell, she reached for another letter.

“‘Dear Bob, have you ever seen the movie
Sleepless in Seattle?'
” Molly laughed out loud and tossed the letter to the left. “Sorry, girlfriend,
nooo
Empire State Buildings for Bob.”

M
olly had long since put John Boy in his pen after it became obvious by his sneezes that it wasn't good for him to be around the letters. Her back was cramping and she was in the middle of a huge sneeze herself when she heard Bob say something. Glad for a reason to get up, she laid down the letter in her hand and went to see what he needed. But when she entered the room he was silent.

“Bob,” she said softly, bending over him. He looked so tranquil with his eyes closed, his dark lashes feathering across his tanned skin. An unruly lock of hair had fallen across his forehead and, before she could stop herself, she touched the curl.

She'd always admired his hair, its dark rich waves. They were as silky to touch as she'd thought they would be. Biting her lip, she very lightly brushed it back from his forehead, glad that the crease of pain had relaxed. There was so much about Bob that was almost too good
to be true. But she'd been around him long enough to know everything about Bob Jacobs was real. He was beautiful. Inside and out…

He shifted slightly and his nose twitched, probably from the residue of perfume hovering about her like a cloud.

“Bob, what can I do for you?” she asked again, but he was obviously asleep. He mumbled and she smiled. Yep. Just what she'd suspected—he was talking in his sleep. Curiosity got the better of her and she leaned forward. Her long hair fell from her shoulder and settled on his chin. Immediately his eyes flew open and she was caught red-handed hovering over him, staring straight into his dark eyes.

“Hello beautiful,” he said woozily.

She froze. Just froze, her face right there two inches from trouble! Her heart thundered like the thud of a thousand horses' hooves on hard dirt.

Move, Molly girl. Move away from the cowboy!

“H-hello,” she finally managed breathlessly, continuing to hover like a hovercraft. Incapable of movement.

Bob's dreamy gaze roved from her stunned eyes to her lips. Her eyes responded by seeking his lips. They were perfect lips. Wide and smooth with an upward tilt at the edges, as if he was always on the verge of a smile. That was Bob. At least, that used to be Bob, before she'd messed up his life.

“I…I thought you needed me,” she said at last. Snapping to her senses, she stood and pushed her hair behind her ears. Fleeing would be good.

But she couldn't. He was smiling up at her and that
was far stronger than the pull of escape. Besides, it was obvious that the painkillers were in full effect.

“I do need you.”

Molly laughed, feeling foolishly giddy at his words. It was the medication at work on his brain, she knew this. Still, the sensation the words ignited in her heart was startlingly real. Molly stepped back as if she'd touched a hot skillet. But his grunt of discomfort when he suddenly struggled to sit up drew her right back to the frying pan.

No! She dropped to her knees. “Here, let me help you,” she gasped, reaching for him. He paused, smiling lazily at her with the dopey smile of someone not in their right mind.

“That'd be mighty kind of you,” he drawled. His lids heavy, his expression slack, he studied her, leaning forward then pulling back. “Feels like my middle got broke,” he grunted, but struggled again to straighten up.

“Wait!” she cried again. His face crinkled in pain, he watched her grab two pillows from the floor where she'd set them when Clint had first brought him home. Gently she wrapped an arm behind his good shoulder, or at least his best shoulder, trying to miss his patchwork of stitches. “Okay, easy now,” she coaxed, taking some of his weight as he shifted enough for her to slip a pillow behind him.

Their faces were close. She could actually feel his hair against her forehead as she gently helped him ease into a more comfortable position, all the while well aware of his breath on her cheek.

The kiss came out of nowhere.

One minute she was helping him lean back and the next moment he tilted his head downward and met her lips with his. Molly's entire thought process exploded with shock.

And then as quickly as it happened it was over. It really couldn't even be classified as a real kiss it ended so quickly. By the time she'd realized he was actually kissing her and she'd opened her eyes—eyes she hadn't remembered closing—it was done. And it was like payback for all the trouble she'd caused him.

Serious payback. Because when she opened her eyes, Bob was asleep.

Peacefully, obliviously asleep.

And Molly?

Well, Molly was a mess.

 

Bob lay awake in his bed and stared at the ceiling. Shadows of the tree limbs were dancing above him, illuminated from the bright moon. If he lay very still, he could relax and the aches of his body could be ignored.

Almost.

His thoughts returned to Molly. He'd given her a hard time, but like a trouper, she'd hung in there and was trying hard to make amends for the mess she'd created in his life.

He smiled. She was determined to take care of him. Sure, he knew part of it was to assuage her guilt, but he'd be lying if he didn't admit that, after the initial shock of her presence, he was glad to have her here. If she'd had any idea how badly he'd been beaten up in his lifetime, she would be stunned to know these injuries were nothing in comparison.

He felt a little guilty. He'd always lived through his injuries before and had managed fine alone. He knew the routine well. He would hurt something fierce for a few days and then he'd be fine. Bullfighting in the PBR wasn't ranked number three out of the top ten worst jobs a person could have for nothing. It was a tough business.

Some people didn't realize a rider faced a bull during a ride maybe twice on any given night, while a bullfighter faced as many as seventy bulls in that same event. It was a dangerous job, and pain and injury were part of it. It wasn't a job he missed.

At least not now. When he'd lived it, he'd loved it. Then he'd met the Lord on a long dark stretch of Texas road. On that night his perspective had changed on everything.

He'd been coming back from an event and he was worn-out. He'd drifted to sleep behind the wheel—something he'd never done before—and he'd sideswiped a guardrail. Ironically, he put his life on the line in a single evening at work more times than five men combined would in a year—and it took a duel with a guardrail to wake him up. Not that the Lord hadn't been working on him for months, but he'd been stubborn. However, in that instant, when just a thin strip of metal had kept him from plunging into the Trinity River, the Lord in all His mercy and grace had stripped him bare.

God had prepared him for the meeting earlier that evening when Bob attended a church service held before the events started. The preacher had read a verse from the Third Book of Lamentations and it was that verse Bob was thinking of when he woke, his truck grinding down the side of the railing, bowing it out to the breaking point.

“The Lord is good to those whose hope is in Him, to the one who seeks Him.”

Sitting on the side of the road that night, Bob had prayed for hope. He'd prayed that the Lord would take the chest full of anger and resentment he'd been carrying around since he was a kid and release him from it. When he'd driven away from the spot twenty minutes later, he'd been a changed man. First and foremost, he no longer walked alone. He'd felt God's presence the instant he'd asked Him into his heart. And God had replaced the anger and resentment with a rekindling of his childhood desire to have a family to call his own.

Bob started looking for the right place to settle down the next day. Over the years he'd crisscrossed the country several times and had seen a lot of places. But now he was watching for a place to call his own. Making plans and seeking the right fit for his future, the right place to make a home. When he'd found Mule Hollow, he'd retired with no regrets.

And now he was waiting on the woman to make his dreams come true.

Ignoring the pain in his neck and shoulders, he rolled his head just enough to glance one more time at the clock and wish for daylight. It had been a very long night.

Before Molly had left for the evening, she had worked to help him up off the couch, but it wasn't happening. When your insides were all broken up, it was almost impossible to get to your feet from a reclining position. In the end he'd been forced to chuck his pride and show her how it was done. Which meant, rolling from a reclining position onto his hands and knees on
the floor. Then, using the table for leverage, he had eased his way to a standing position. Yeah, it was a sad sight. But when you had a chest full of broke ribs, bending at the waist was almost worse than getting stomped on in the first place.

Of course, now that she'd seen him struggling his pride hurt just as bad. Not that it mattered what Molly thought of him.

Yeah right, cowboy. You keep telling yourself that
.

She'd smelled as good as a fresh spring day when she'd wrapped her arms around him and gently tried to ease his pain. It was just plain distracting.

When he'd finally made it to a standing position, she was tucked beneath his good arm, her face tilted back as she earnestly studied his face. And that's when it had happened. Her face was flushed a gentle pink and, well…he had the sudden urge to bend his head down and kiss her. Of course he blamed it on the medicine. Kissing Molly would be about as good an idea as going back out there and letting Sylvester finish him off.

It hadn't made things any better that she was looking up at him with the startled eyes of a deer caught in a headlight, like maybe she might have been thinking about kissing him, too.

Yeah, it was the medicine. It had addled his brain.

One look at the pencil behind her ear reminded him to get his act together. Molly Popp the reporter, was leaving Mule Hollow the minute the story was over and the next opportunity arrived. And just because being around her all day had brought back that initial attraction he'd felt for her, he had better batten down the hatches better.

Yep. That was what he'd been telling himself for the past five hours as he lay captive in his bed staring up at the ceiling.

He listened to the seconds tick by on his alarm clock. If he could raise his hand up without pain, he'd check his skull for concussions. Because there had to be something wrong with his brain. There had to be.

Fact was, despite all the reasons he had to be ticked off at Molly, all he could think about was her sweetness. That sweetness kept coming back to nudge away any anger he had for her.

She'd placed the cordless phone right beside his arm on the mattress just in case there was an emergency, checked all the fire-alarm batteries in case there was a fire while he slept…she wanted to make certain something alerted him in case of a fire.

She was sweet, all right. She'd spent all that time making certain he was as comfortable as possible, protected him from as much harm as she could and then she'd taken his dog and gone home.

He grinned. She'd gone home, completely forgetting to bring him his pain medicine before she left.

He felt the smile that spread across his face. If it didn't hurt so much, he would laugh. But when a guy had four broken ribs among other things, he did not laugh.

He didn't sleep, either.

What he did was a tubload of thinking.

 

Walking into Bob's silent kitchen, Molly set her purse on the tiled counter, set the puppy down to play and surveyed Bob's home once more. It was obvious by
the things he'd surrounded himself with that he was going to be a wonderful family man. He'd set his roots deep in this house that he'd lived in for a little over a month. There was warmth in his home, which didn't surprise her, because there was a warmth to Bob. He'd decorated in creams and tans, adding splashes of reds and greens throughout. It wasn't magazine perfect, but it was close.

He had paintings on the walls and pillows on the chairs. There were large colorful rugs on the floors and even a beautiful arrangement of flowers in the entrance hall. Everything about this house said Welcome to my home. Bob Jacobs hadn't been kidding when he'd said he was ready for a wife. He was ready to fill his home with a family.

And he'd need the perfect wife for the perfect husband.

All the more reason for her get over the schoolgirl jitters she was having around the man.

Do you have feelings for Bob?

That question had stalked her all night. It was his fault, with that kiss! She hadn't signed on thinking about being kissed…didn't seem to matter that it had been a peck. It had messed her up so bad for the rest of afternoon that she'd zipped around like a dizzy jabber-mouth, unable to look Bob in the eye without growing pink! He'd made her so nervous, watching her as she'd taken precautions to make sure he would be safe alone for the night. By the time she'd grabbed John Boy and fled, she'd been certain he thought she didn't have a brain.

“Do I have feelings for Bob?” she mumbled under her
breath. It was foolish even toying with the idea. It had just been the surprise of the kiss…but then there was the way he'd said he needed her. Not that she believed it.

It was crazy, crazy, crazy.

And more crazy. He didn't need her—he'd been doped up on painkillers, for goodness' sakes.

She took a deep breath. She had to get a hold of herself—if she could find where the real Molly Popp had disappeared, she would. The thought of facing him after having acted so erratically was humiliating. He had probably laughed himself to sleep last night.

Swinging around she snapped the cold water on, snatched the coffee carafe and filled it with water. Busywork. That's what she needed to get her head on straight before she went in there and faced him. When she'd finished preparing the coffeemaker, she filled a glass with water, took another deep breath and reached for the pain medication.