Dream a Little Dream (7 page)

Molly dropped her hand from his arm and waved weakly toward the kitchen. She knew he was searching for the right words, trying not to let his temper get the best of him. One of Bob Jacobs's strong points—and he had many—was his normally calm, almost innocent charm. Not really shy, more like he usually thought things out before saying something he would regret. She had somehow found the buttons that pushed him to his limit. And for that she was sorry. Thinking how hard he'd tried not to come here and vent at her she felt she owed him something.

“I baked lasagna,” she blurted out, wanting to calm him, to ease the anger he was fighting to control. “I know it feeds an army and you know how it is when you live alone…” She'd said she was sorry—maybe he
would accept a token of that remorse. “Would…would you like to join me?”

Why was she inviting him for dinner? He was going to turn her down flat. No way would he say yes to the woman who had single-handedly turned his perfect life upside down. She deserved the startled look he gave her. But he deserved so much more than the way she'd treated him that she pushed forward. More certain than before that she wanted him to stay.

“Really, please stay. Honestly, I'm not great in the kitchen, but I've been told I make decent lasagna. Dinner is the least I can do to say I'm sorry for causing you all this trouble.”

And she really was sorry.

He thumped his hat on his hip, studying her for a minute…no doubt wondering what had possessed her to think he would ever consider such an offer from her. Molly bit her lip and prepared for rejection.

“Okay.”

She blinked. Twice. Molly fought off the fluttery feeling rolling over her and rubbed her hands on the front of her blue jeans to steady herself. “Good. Very good. Here let me take your hat.” She was breathless as she reached for his hat. Their fingers met and she froze for a moment. “I'll…just hang it over here and you can get it on your way out.” She fumbled the hat, tearing it from his fingers. Smiling weakly, he met her gaze, and for the briefest second she thought she saw something in his eyes…then he let go and turned toward the window.

“Great view.”

“I enjoy it.” She couldn't move—she had imagined
the spark of interest. Sure there had once been interest between them, but they were the proverbial two ships going separate directions. She'd put a lid on that attraction not long after moving here. She hadn't wanted anything standing in the way when the time came for her to move on. She'd made it clear to him that her career took priority in her life. It was the only fair thing to do.

Once she'd put her priorities out there, it had been like a breaker blowout for him. The man had visibly shut down all interest on a personal level. It had been instant and firm.

It hadn't stopped her curiosity though, and when someone mentioned once that his dad had been a reporter, she'd been shocked to realize his dad was Ted Jacobs. He'd been a freelancer whose work had appeared in prestigious magazines and newspapers for nearly thirty years. Molly had long admired his work—the man had had a knack for penetrating high-voltage situations. He'd lived on the edge of danger throughout his nearly thirty-year career, writing stories that touched lives and taught lessons in humanity at the same time. Molly completely respected him.

Studying Bob's back, she wondered what life had been like growing up with a famous father like that. It was none of her business, so she tried to cap her curiosity as she placed his hat on the small table beside the door and focused on feeding him. Taking a deep breath, she moved to the kitchen and placed the garlic bread into the oven to warm.

Grateful that he'd moved the topic onto something less volatile between them, she went with it. “Since I was the first renter in the building, I was able to choose the best
view. It's nice to look out there and see past the town's roofline to the horizon. The sunsets are spectacular.”

“I bet,” he said, coming to the doorway. “Can I help—whoa. What happened here?”

Molly glanced at the sink full of bowls and the counter covered in flour. Of all days for him to come to her apartment. She sighed.

“I take cooking classes sometimes.”

His eyebrows knit together again, in curiosity this time. “Where?”

Molly bit her lip and rocked back on her heels. “On TV. I pick one of the shows on a cooking channel and I try something. On days I'm thinking out article kinks, I bake bread. It relaxes me.”

“Ahh, so that explains the counters and this.”

He reached out and brushed her cheek with his thumb. Molly hiccuped and immediately swung toward the faucet to get a glass of water to hide the surprise on her face. She hadn't had hiccups in years, but that wasn't what had surprised her.

“So you made the bread. Cool.”

She finished gulping the water and holding her breath at the same time. “No. It's store-bought bread.”

When she turned around, breathing normal again, his gaze was roaming the room. “So did you eat all the homemade bread?”

Why couldn't he have come over
after
she'd cleaned up her mess? Sure, he was looking for Suzy Homemaker and she wasn't her—and she didn't care to be her—but did he have to find out that even if she'd wanted to be, she still wouldn't be anywhere close to being Suzy?

What did it matter? “I can't bake bread. I try. I make huge messes and I try at least once a month, whether I'm having trouble with an article or not. But I can't bake bread. The bread doesn't take it personally since I can't cook much else, either.” There the cat was out of the bag. Why she cared that she was no good at something she had no desire to be good at confused her, and always had.

“I didn't take you as the kind of woman who wanted to be in the kitchen.” He had that baffled sound in his voice.

“Well, actually, that's a gray area with me. I don't have a clue if I do or don't.”

He chuckled, and it sounded wonderful to Molly's ears. Bob always had been one to laugh easily and lately she'd taken that away. Standing beside him in her tiny kitchen, her ears warmed suddenly and her stomach rolled again.

“Um, do you still want to help?” she asked, needing to change the subject.

“Sure.”

“Then grab the place mats out of that drawer there—” she pointed behind him “—and the flatware there.” She pointed to the drawer above the other one. “I'll get the glasses. Is iced tea okay with you?”

“That's my drink of choice.”

“Sweet or unsweet?”

“The sweeter the better. But I'll drink it either way.”

“You're in luck. I learned to make tea from my mom and it's as sweet as it can get without being syrup.”

Within minutes she was taking the bread out of the oven and setting it on the table beside the lasagna.

She shouldn't have been surprised when Bob pulled her chair out for her, then waited until she was settled before seating himself.

Watching him, Molly only realized she'd twisted the chain at her neck to the point of breaking when it pinched her skin. It had been a long time since she'd shared dinner with a man and she knew it was pathetically apparent.

“May I say the blessing?” he asked softly.

“Please.”

He reached across the table his palm upturned. Molly stared at it before placing hers in it. She immediately bowed her head to hide the panic in her eyes. This was so cozy. So Norman Rockwell perfect. She listened as Bob asked God's blessing over the food. It was a simple prayer but it was a prayer from a man comfortable with his Lord. It should have relaxed her—it didn't. When he released her hand, she snatched it back so fast she knocked her tea over.

“Oh,” she gasped. Springing up, she hit her knees on the table and if he hadn't had quick hands his tea would have toppled too.

“I'm so sorry.” She snagged a dish towel off the counter and started mopping up the mess. She was not normally a klutz, well, not exactly. Fortunately it was one of her smaller glasses and she had it cleaned up before it spread to his side of the table. He was nice enough not to kid her about the accident and within moments she was back in her seat.

Sweating.

“Okay,” she said, her heart still pounding from hu
miliation. Children spilled their drinks. “Let's try this again. I'm not normally so clumsy.”

He grinned, showing his dimples. “It's okay. Really.”

She took a deep breath, clasped her hands together in her lap and willed herself to relax. What was wrong with her? She must be coming down with something.

Fever, trembling hands. Her stomach was all weird feeling and she was thinking fuzzy. She just hoped she didn't make Bob sick. Poor man, she'd done enough to him already without giving him the flu.

Or whatever in the world was wrong with her.

M
olly was acting strange. Bob wondered if she was coming down with something. She didn't look sick though. She looked like she always looked to him—beautiful. Maybe a little flushed. But that only enhanced her beauty. With skin the color of a golden apricot, her rust-colored hair and those green eyes it was no wonder every cowboy around couldn't take his eyes off her when she entered a room. But they kept their distance, just like him. Molly was merely passing through and all the guys could tell she wasn't staying. It showed in her eyes, in the distance lurking there.

But right now she was acting odd. Maybe he'd hurt her feelings about her cooking. He'd probably looked pretty astounded by her revelation that she was even attempting anything in the kitchen.
Of course
he had been astounded. Amazed. A little bewildered, to be honest.

And the fact she had an ongoing battle with trying to make bread…now that was cute. Not that any of it
mattered. She was leaving. He needed to keep remembering that—and the not-so-tiny matter that she might have done irreparable damage to his anonymity. Not that he wanted total obscurity, but he didn't want to become the Mule Hollow field trip, either.

“This is good,” he said, taking a bite of the steaming pasta. “You weren't kidding.”

She paused with her fork midair. “That's the only thing I can boast about. Believe me.”

He laughed and watched her take a small bite. “I doubt that. Maybe you can't bake bread, but most people can't. I guess I should have brought desert, especially since I happen to have plenty of it now.” Now why'd he go and do that? He'd just said the prayer and he was actually relaxing.

Molly tensed immediately at the reference to his zealous visitors.

“I am sorry.” Setting her fork on her plate, she picked up her napkin and dabbed at her mouth. Worry filled her eyes.

“I'll live. Relax, and forget I said anything…although, day-care lady did say she was a great baker. A guy couldn't go wrong marrying a great baker. Just look at Brady—the man has the best of both worlds since Dottie is a baker
and
a candy maker. Maybe I could get lucky.” He smiled—the day did have its comical points.

Molly's shoulders relaxed and she put the napkin back down, smoothing out the wrinkles she'd wrung into it. “Yeah. You have a point there. Um, I've been meaning to tell you that there's something red on your cheek.”

Bob lifted his napkin and rubbed his left cheek. She
shook her head and pointed to her own opposite cheek. He rubbed his other cheek and stared at the red lipstick on the white napkin. “Aw, man! I've had that on here the whole time?”

She nodded, her eyes dancing. “Those bakers are dangerous women.”

“You don't know the half of it.” He wanted to forget the crazy women. “Truth is, I don't know from which of the women I got kissed. When the day-care lady got jealous of the motorcycle lady, she literally tried to wedge herself between the two of us like a human crowbar…all I was concentrating on was getting away from both of them.”

Molly's eyes grew serious. “I am sincerely sorry. But they know a good thing when they see it.” She smiled then frowned as if she'd realized what she'd said. Suddenly she seemed uneasy again.

Feeling the same, Bob searched for something else to talk about, realizing he wanted to talk about Molly. Despite everything, she intrigued him. He surveyed the apartment she called home.
Home
wasn't quite the word he would use to describe the rooms. A furnished place would come with more than she had here. The lack of belongings baffled him.

Her walls were bare. There was nothing on the side tables. There
was
a bookshelf full of books, but other than that there was nothing in the room that said someone actually lived in the apartment. The only adornment on the coffee table was her laptop and an open folder with a yellow legal pad on top of it.

“You haven't unpacked yet, or are you moving?” He
took a bite of garlic bread. Maybe she was already leaving and he hadn't heard the news yet.

She glanced around and smiled. “It's bad, isn't it? No, on both counts. I keep saying I'm going to go out and buy a bunch of those accessories that the home-improvement channels are always going on about. Maybe a plant. But I'm not much of a homey person and I'd probably kill it.”

“You mean, this is how you plan to keep the room?”

She looked blank. “Well, I'm not much of a shopper, either. It takes time to buy all that stuff. And well—” She shrugged.

Bob laughed. She was so serious. “Don't you want to make your house comfortable?” She called creature comforts
stuff
as if it was a dirty word.

He didn't mean to make her feel bad, but when she put her fork down, placed her hands in her lap and scanned the room, he suddenly wished he could take back his question. What was up with him and his big mouth? When she met his gaze, he knew he'd hurt her feelings and she was struggling not to let it show.

“I'm a buffoon. What you do in your home is your business. One man's comfort is another man's burden. Right?” He smiled, hoping to chase away the past five minutes.

“I guess so.” Her brows were crinkled toward each other as she scanned her lack of things. “I write. That's what I do. I write. I research and I write some more. I guess my priorities are different than some.”

“You don't want roots?”
Hey Jacobs, back off. You know the answer to that. You've been here, remember.

“As I told you when I first came here, I want to travel.”

“That's right, Mule Hollow is just a stepping stone for you.”
There you go, Jacobs, keep kicking up trouble
.

She dropped her head slightly. “Well, um, I recognize Mule Hollow as a huge resource. I look on it as a gift. Not just because God's given me the opportunity to help the town and at the same time help promote my writing, but because this is where I met Jesus.”

The sincerity in her voice and her expression had him pushing more. “But, you still don't think Mule Hollow is the place to settle down in—here, among friends?”

She picked up her fork and pushed her food around in her plate. “Look. I used to hide in my closet…and dream. I mean, I would picture places in my mind that I would travel to when I grew up and could get away. Places where I could make a difference. I want to tell stories that help link the world together like a community. You know, build a bond, help make a bridge between all people…”

And that was well and good, but it still meant never landing in one spot. “You do have a knack for writing a story people want to get involved in. Believe me, I've found that out firsthand.”

She blushed again, a very becoming shade of pink. “And for that I am so sorry. Again.”

How could he stay mad at her? He never was one to hold a grudge. Except maybe with his father. When a man chose career over family it was pretty cut-and-dried. Truth was, at times he still struggled with that grudge. He knew it wasn't right, but it was the truth.

“What about marriage. You still don't have plans to ever marry?”

She took the last bite of her food and shook her head
one hard jerk. “Not me. I'm committed. And I do feel called to write. Until I realized I'd been basically living my life on my terms and not the Lord's, I was just focused on my career and what it could do for me. I didn't have the entire picture. After I accepted the Lord, I was praying for guidance and suddenly everything became clear to me. What I write can do all that I'd hoped for—with a twist. I do it for Him now. I want my stories to show God's power.”

She paused and took a deep breath. “That's why I got so excited about what you're doing. Your faith shows that power. Your words were inspiring. You represent all of those who want to find love, but you want it to be with the woman that God chooses for you. You are on a quest much higher than merely finding a companion. And you're willing to sacrifice to find her. If everyone did that, maybe things would be different.”

She had a way about her.

“I don't call it sacrifice. It's not sacrifice when you're working toward getting something you really want. And I want a family. It's all I've ever wanted.”

“And I know you didn't like my stories about you, but that was all I was trying to help you get. I know, I know, you don't need my help. But don't you think that my being here could have been to specifically help you? I mean, God could use my storyline to bring you the woman of your dreams.”

She was tenacious. “Maybe,” he responded. “But I never figured my future wife would wear fringed leather.” He couldn't deny grinning.

Molly smiled and winked at him. “You never know what God has in store for you, Bob.”

He looked at her with total assurance. “I can tell you it's not anything I saw today. And that's for sure.”

“Well, there's always tomorrow.”

 

The sun was just going down when Bob walked up the brick path to his back porch. Scooping John Boy up out of a makeshift pen beside the steps, he ruffled the silky hair then opened the door and strode into his house.

“Hey little fella, did you miss me?” He liked the idea of coming home to something other than his horses and his cows. A dog wasn't a family, but it was the beginnings of a unit.

He stopped in the kitchen and surveyed the open space. He'd only been living here for a month, but unlike Molly's apartment, it looked as if he'd lived here all his life. He'd hung pictures on the walls, even put flowers in the entrance hall. The lady at the store in Ranger where he'd shopped for many items had first told him the particular vase of silk flowers were only for display. However, after he'd spent a couple of months' pay in the store she'd given him the large vase of flowers as a thank-you. They now looked very welcoming in the center of the small table in his foyer.

He liked the way it looked. The flowers reminded him of springtime and cheer. And that was exactly the kind of feeling he wanted when he walked into his home.

He and Molly looked at life like polar opposites. He knew exactly why he wanted his house to feel like a home. His past was directly responsible for wanting to feel com
forted by his surroundings. He wanted the security of a home with roots set deep in the Texas soil. He wanted to bring a family up here in this solid small community and know that his kids would always understand they had a place to come home to. He'd chosen Mule Hollow carefully as he'd toured the country as a rodeo bullfighter. It had been a weird feeling when he'd stepped out of his beat-up truck six years ago and felt connected.

The poor town. The memory of how sad it had looked then amazed him. It had been pitiful with its worn-down buildings and deserted streets, but it had called to something deep in his soul, something inside of himself that related.

He hadn't quit the circuit that day, had continued on to his finals in Las Vegas. But he'd known he'd found what he'd been searching for and he'd quit the PBR at the end of the week, returning to Mule Hollow immediately. Clint Matlock had hired him on and taught him everything he knew about ranching. And it was enough to make him feel confident enough to make a go of it with his own place.

He'd been planning his life ever since the day his dad left him at boarding school. His mother had died and his dad had chosen his career over his kid. That left Bob with no options but to play the game the way it was dealt. He'd been stuck in a room with another kid, had meals in a cafeteria every day, spent most holidays either at the school or at a roommate's family gathering, and on occasion shared a dinner with his dad. That is, when his dad could find time between world-class assignments to fit in his son.

Bob had been angry about that part of his life for years. Rebellion had driven him to bull riding. Some guys rode for the joy of the ride, or the adrenaline. He'd ridden as an outlet for rage. It had taken God's love to redeem him from the pit of anger. But, just because he wasn't bearing the fury of a loveless childhood anymore didn't mean he wasn't still angry looking back. He had his moments. And he didn't have patience for parents who didn't give their kids the love and attention they deserved. His kids were going to get more love than they would know what to do with.

At least he had to admire Molly—she hadn't said she wanted a family. He might not understand her choice of work over family, but he could respect that she knew she couldn't have both. Not in the world she was seeking as a career.

Looking around his cozy home, a sense of satisfaction eased over him. He'd come out on this end of his life with a solid understanding of what he did and didn't want. And one thing was certain. He wanted a traditional wife to fill his traditional home with love and children.

He held John Boy up in the air and smiled at him. His bright golden eyes and lopsided grin cheered him. Border collies were the best dogs a man could have. They were excellent cattle dogs and great with children. Bob's hope was by the time John Boy was a year old Bob would have found the love of his life.

“She's out there, John Boy. Yes she is.”

The puppy turned his head to the side and his lips drooped into a frown as he studied Bob innocently.

“Oh, you don't believe me.” Bob tilted his forehead
to meet the pup's and rubbed soothingly. “I'm telling you she's out there. And believe me I'm more than ready to make her acquaintance.”

 

Molly was sitting at a picnic table outside Sam's. Her computer sat open in front of her. She was happily finishing up a feature article for
Countryside Magazine
. She'd had to keep focusing her thoughts, but she'd finally come up with a great article. It wasn't
Time Magazine,
but it was a good article and it would pay the bills.