The Trouble With Lacy Brown (6 page)

Twenty minutes later, scrubbed nearly raw, his skin now pinker than any paint Lacy Brown could possibly concoct, Clint stood before the mirror in his bathroom and studied his hair with dismay. He’d already dressed in loose jeans and a navy polo shirt before he’d looked at himself in the mirror and realized that not all the paint had been destroyed.

Lacy Brown had painted his hair pink!

He looked like a lead guitarist for one of those hard-rock bands. Letting out a groan, he planted his palms on either side of the sink and leaned toward the mirror. He was up a creek without a paddle. If just one of his ranch hands saw this, he’d never live down the joking. Texas cowboys delighted in a chance to poke fun at some poor sodbuster. The boss drew the jokes tenfold if he happened to be the one caught in a tender situation. Pink hair! Not in a million years would he have
ever thought something like this could happen to him. Of course, since Lacy had come to town, there had been a lot happening to him that he’d never have dreamed of. But this—he’d have to find a way to get rid of the stuff. Pronto.

Lacy would know how.

The thought slipped into his thoughts, but he quickly put it away; he wasn’t about to ask her. Not after the way he’d treated her. Yeah, how have you treated her? He stared at himself as he lathered on shaving cream, then wiped his hands on a towel. The woman had come to town to open a business and, in her spastic mind, help the town. She might have her own motives about being here, but essentially, from the little he’d been able to understand from her, she had noble ideas about helping Mule Hollow survive. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled remembering the way she’d suddenly started singing right there in the middle of town after they’d had their little driving mishap. The woman was—he hated to say it—the woman was
sometimes
entertaining and beautiful in a Meg Ryan sort of way. She did have a way of making him smile….

And she was out in that hot sun painting all alone because not a soul had offered to help.

He ignored the pang of guilt; instead he picked up his razor and started to shave his face while trying not to look himself in the eye. So what if it was a hundred
degrees outside? Could he help it if the crazed woman didn’t know when to quit? He wasn’t her keeper—he met his gaze in the mirror. Somebody needed to be!

S
weat trickled down Lacy’s face so she paused her painting, pulled off her cap and wiped the bucket of perspiration from her forehead with the back of her arm. It was blazing hot. Clint had been right about that. She hated to admit it, but maybe she should get out of the sun and rest. She didn’t have time, though. Why she’d only painted a little bit of her building and she wanted a whole lot more accomplished before she stopped. She hadn’t even stopped to eat. There was so much to be done. Sheri needed help inside. The walls and woodwork needed painting, wallpaper had to be hung…the list went on and on.

Help would be nice, but Adela and the girls were busy overseeing the remodeling of the old Howard place. They needed some sort of accommodation for the women when they did come, and someone had to
take care of that. Lacy understood and agreed that the apartments were a wonderful idea. Besides, it was too hot out here for them.

Dizziness swept over her; she swayed. For support, she grasped the railing that ran the length of the second-story roof. After a moment, the woozy feeling diminished and she placed her brush on the side of the paint bucket. Maybe going in wasn’t such a bad idea…just for a minute anyway. She scanned the horizon, took a deep breath of sultry air and started to climb down from her perch on top of the front overhang, when three trucks materialized out of the distant road haze.

Clicking along at a fast pace, they looked like they were on a mission. She wondered who it could be, and then as they drew closer she knew.

“Lord, please give me patience,” she muttered, recognizing the large black four-by-four truck in the lead. Clint Matlock had returned.

Tires screeching, he halted his truck in front of her building. The other vehicles followed suit. Clint and six men stepped to the pavement. Why, it looked like the shoot-out at the O.K. Corral. Scuffed boots, snug, work-worn jeans, sweat-soaked Stetsons… These were real cowboys! And they all stood, legs planted slightly apart, fist jammed on hard hips, staring up at her with steely eyes as if she were some kind of bandit. She felt like she should draw her six-shooter or something.

“I told you to get out of this heat.” Clint’s voice was dangerously low; his spurs clinked ominously as he stepped toward her.

Her pulse skipped about fifty beats—she plunked a hand to her hip and met his deadly glare. “And I told you I had to finish painting today.” Goodness, but the man was gorgeous!

“Either you come down off that roof or I’m coming up and hauling you down.”

The men looked from Clint to Lacy.

“Two things. One—I’d like to see you try hauling me down from here. And two—what are they doing here?

“
They
are going to finish this job for you. Now come on down. Or I’m warning you, I’m coming up.”

The man was infuriating…and intriguing. He had to be the orneriest man she’d ever met in her entire life. Not many men had ever stood up to her for long. She admired Clint’s courage. Plus, at least he’d brought help. She had begun to worry that all the cowpokes were worthless, like the ones that had watched her from across the street off and on all day. They hadn’t even offered to help clean up the mess after Clint left. All they’d wanted to know was if Lacy and Sheri wanted to go for a beer when they finished work. The slugs. Automatically Lacy had relegated them to the bottom of her matchmaking list.

“Well, are you coming down or what?” Clint drawled, stepping toward the ladder.

“Don’t you dare touch my ladder again. I’m coming down.” Thrusting out her chin, she stalked to the ladder. There was no sense letting him know how much she appreciated his coming to her rescue. Or how much she needed rescuing.

Or how cute he was, doing the rescuing!

Watching Lacy descend the ladder, Clint figured he’d been a bit hasty coming back. The woman was dangerous to his mental health. She was trouble all right. He told himself not to get mixed up with her, but…every time he saw her, he liked what he saw. It wasn’t only the looks that set her apart, it was her mouth. When she opened it and smarted off—well, he liked it. He kind of enjoyed the banter. But that didn’t mean he wanted anything to come of it. Because he didn’t.

She’d reached the bottom rung and was mere inches from him. Up close, she was flushed more than he’d first thought. Stubborn woman could be near a heatstroke already.

“Cowboy,” she said, cupping her palm against his jaw. He started at the surprise contact. “I can tell you’re used to getting your way, people jumping at your every command. I’ve done it this time—” She dropped her hand and started walking up the steps to her salon. “But—” she paused at the door and looked over her shoulder at him “—I wouldn’t get used to it if I were you.”

The woman seriously impaired his thinking process. Clint shook his head and forced his gaze from the doorway through which Lacy had just disappeared. To think he’d rushed back to town to show some neighborly goodwill by helping paint her building. All the while telling himself he could handle being near her.

Her touch on his cheek had snagged his attention and set his skin to tingling, but it was the challenge in her words that had him wanting—what? Wanting to crowd her space and see what happened. That’s what.

“Clint, you want us to start painting?”

“Yeah, that’s what I want,” he snapped, turning to his top hand, J.P. He’d walked over while Clint had been drowning in thoughts and now stood beside him staring up at the building in shock. “Get the boys started. I want this building painted by nightfall.” Clint secured his hat firmly in place. It wouldn’t do for the men to see his pink hair. He’d never get any work out of them for all the bad jokes and rank laughter. He tugged at his waistband and squared his shoulders before turning back toward the doorway. He and Lacy had some business to finish and he needed to make certain she hadn’t walked into the cool building and passed out.

“Sir?”

He paused at the door and lifted an eyebrow at the bitter face the younger man was making. “Something bothering you, J.P.?”

“Well—” he shrugged a shoulder toward the building “—pink?”

Clint’s sentiments exactly. “Yeah, pink,” he said, then stomped into Lacy’s flaming flamingo building.

He found her standing beside a small refrigerator downing a glass of water. Instantly his gut twisted at the sight of her, relaxed for the first time. After a moment he forced his gaze away to the safety of surveying the room.

What a mess! Wallpaper peeled away from one wall, another wasn’t even drywalled! Instead, naked brick met his gaze. The floor was hardwood and very near ruination. Beat-up with age, it had been swept but would require more than the bristles of a broom to become presentable. The fifteen-foot ceiling wasn’t much better with its ancient light fixtures off-kilter, some hanging by mere threads. At best, the place was a regular firetrap. If Lacy were half smart, she’d do herself a favor, toss a match to the place and walk away.

But obviously Lacy and her friend, who was squatted in a corner peeling paper, weren’t half-smart. They were slap crazy.

“Don’t you love it?”

Love it? He twisted, searching for what Lacy was speaking of, but she was looking at him and he knew, with startling regret, that the adoration in her voice wasn’t aimed his direction. “You aren’t talking about this place?”

She wiped the last of the perspiration from her forehead with a small white towel and smiled. “Well, what else would I be talking about? You?”

“Of course not,” he said, jamming his hands in his pockets, confused as to why that statement bothered him so. He glanced around again at the mess and wondered at the kind of woman who could look past the dirt and grime and see something to love. “My men will finish painting the outside of the building. That way you can start work in here. Why? I don’t know.”

His sarcasm prompted a chuckle. “You think my place is a wreck?”

“A
wreck—
” he paused dramatically “—would be too kind a word.” This statement garnered a dour look from her, and Clint found himself smiling. “You think I’m kidding?”

“Quite the contrary, I know you’re dead serious.”

He cocked a hip, mocking the way he’d seen her do many times. “Oh, yeah, how’s that?”

She fanned herself with her hand. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s people. You took one look at this place and saw doom and gloom. Same as Sheri.”

Clint figured on that point she had him, considering his lack of understanding of how anyone could look at such a dump in any other way.

He was in the process of saying so when her coloring went from flushed to pasty. She swayed, then started crumbling.

One minute Lacy was standing, then she was doubled over in a chair staring at old gum wads stuck to the underside of the seat while Clint Mad-dog Matlock held her head down and commanded her to breathe!

“Do what?” she cried, gasping for air—air that had been forced from her windpipe when he’d crushed her in his big-bear-rescue hug then slammed her into the gum-infested chair.

“Breathe, Lacy. The woozy feeling will pass after a minute.”

“I told her to slow down.”

That came from Sheri, who Lacy could see out of the corner of her upside-down view, had moved to the sink. From the sound she was wetting something down.

“You’ll learn that Lacy does what Lacy wants.” She continued. “It’s a genetic screwup.”

“I love you, too, Sheri,” Lacy growled, struggling against Clint’s powerful grip.

“Yeah, well, you need to,” Sheri snapped, slapping a wet rag across the back of Lacy’s neck. “Nobody but me would be fool enough to go along with your nonsense.”

Lacy started a comeback, but rivers of water were running down her neck, up her jawbone and detouring straight into her nose—I’m drowning here!

“Haven’t you ever heard of heatstroke?” Clint asked.

Heatstroke? I’m drowning! The man was completely oblivious to the fact that he was killing her. She managed to turn her head, to take a breath, and was about to do some talking of her own, when she noticed the warmth of Clint’s strong fingers and the gentle pulsing movements they were making against her collarbone. She clamped her mouth firmly shut and shifted a tad into the feel of those hands. What nice hands he has….

“In this climate, you work a while and rest a while.”

His voice had shifted to match the soothing rhythm of his hands.

“Especially if you aren’t used to it,” he continued.

He’d crouched to her level—mere inches from her—and suddenly, just like a moment in the movies she loved, Lacy felt suspended in time, drifting in the moment.

“I—” Clint started, cleared his throat and continued softly “—I work in the heat every day and I still have to call it quits when my body signals it’s had enough.”

He really had the most beautiful lips, strong lines sloped into a questioning frown. His hands, now still, remained on her collarbone, fanned out wide. Against everything she believed in and wanted, Lacy lifted her hand and touched the corner of his lips with the tip of her finger. And that’s when she knew she could be in trouble here.

And that was simply not in her plans.

C
lint took a breath. He felt as if he were having heatstroke himself looking at Lacy’s lovely face. There was no denying that she was appealing.

His heart thudded when her gaze rested on his lips like a gentle butterfly, then flitted upward to meet his gaze.

Of its own accord, his hand lifted and pushed a damp swath of hair from her temple. “I,” he started, shifting closer still. “I—”

“I’m sorry,” she filled in, straightening suddenly. “I tend to be a bit headstrong. I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble.” She was chattering. “And I called you all kinds of silly names—not to mention killing your Jeep. Can you forgive me?”

He swallowed a groan as she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

What had he been thinking? He stumbled up and back like he’d been zapped with a cattle prod. “Stay put,” he growled, backing toward the door, wanting to run before he did something really stupid like hauling her up and giving her a real kiss. “Don’t venture out that door again today.”

“But I have to finish. I need to be opened when the women start coming.”

He paused at the door, savoring the look of her. “You really think this cockamamie scheme will work?”

“Not think—I
know
it’s going to work.”

Clint pushed his hat back a tad, feeling frustrated. “You don’t say. Are you always so positive?”

A loud laugh rang out from Sheri, who had been silent until now. “If you only knew.”

Lacy Brown was going to be the ruination of some poor fella. And it wouldn’t be him, he reminded himself.

“Like I said,” he said curtly, before Lacy could interrupt, “stay put. My men will take care of painting the outside. You work inside, out of the sun. It’s safer that way.”

Before she could say anything else—and he was certain she would—Clint spun on his heel and exited the building. He needed to cool off and get his head back on straight. He’d done his duty. He’d acted neighborly, had his men giving a helping hand and now he needed to get back to work.
His
work.

He didn’t quite make it. Norma Sue halted him on the sidewalk. “Howdy-doody, Clint,” she said, hurtling to a stop beside him. “Roy Don called and told me how neighborly you were being to Lacy. I think that’s right nice of you. I thought the girls might like to come on over to the house for grilled burgers and fries later on tonight. Didn’t think you’d mind, seeing how accommodating you’ve been.”

Clint scowled. Norma Sue and Roy Don lived in the foreman’s house on the ranch. It was just a hop, skip and a jump from his place. Lacy Brown on his territory—he wasn’t all too lit up with the idea, but Norma Sue had a right to invite whoever she wanted. “Suit yourself. I’m tracking rustlers again tonight.” He started to walk off.

“Now, Clint, hold on a minute. You know those coots will still be there after supper. You come on over and welcome these girls. Wouldn’t be right if you didn’t.”

“Norma Sue—”

“Don’t you Norma Sue me! I’ve changed your diapers and swatted your backside while you were waiting to fill your daddy’s boots. He’d have come and so will you. It’s the right thing to do.”

The right thing to do for who? “I’ll be there. But I’m not staying for coffee.”

“Fine. I’m sure with a sweet thing like Lacy, I won’t have any trouble getting one of your hired hands to come over for polite conversation after supper.”

“Polite,” Clint scoffed. “Have you met Lacy Brown? The woman wouldn’t know polite if she fell in it.” Well, that’s not completely true.

Norma Sue chuckled. “This is good, Clint. Your feathers haven’t been this riled up in…ever. Boy, you ain’t had this happen to you before. Have you?”

“If by that you mean, have I ever met a woman made for trouble like that one in there? Then the answer would be no. Never. And I really don’t reckon this time has made my day. I’ve been run over by a pink piece of junk. Had myself painted pink from head to toe by that little filly. Norma Sue—” he paused, shook his head “to be honest—I don’t want to think about what comes next.”

Trying to relax, Lacy drove toward Clint’s ranch. However, she was tired and edgy. She seldom had a problem with energy, hyperactivity being a flaw she’d faced all her life. But tonight her sunburn stung and she felt physically drained. Not to mention that she was disappointed in herself. She had once again not shown a very Christian manner toward Clint Matlock.

“Sheri,” she said loudly, talking over the wind whipping around them in the open convertible, “I hate to admit it, but I guess I stayed out in the sun too long.”

“Uh-huh. You just now figured that out? Look at you. Our handsome neighbor probably really did save you from heatstroke.”

Lacy frowned. She didn’t like feeling foolish, but the worst was owing more thanks to Clint Matlock. The bullheaded ox—she could just see his smirk. There you go again.

The man was too domineering for his own good. Too sure of himself. Each time he came near, she felt like she’d just completed a twenty-mile race.
Dear Lord, I know part of the reason I’m reacting toward Clint this way is because I don’t want to feel this attraction. So help me to ignore the physical feelings I’m having so that he might see You in me and not me in me.

Her quick prayer done, she turned into the driveway of Norma Sue’s place and shifted the Caddy into Park. Instantly she knew God had a funny sense of humor because Clint came striding up to the car the minute she turned off the ignition.

“How’s the Caddy?” he asked, opening her door.

“Smart move,” Sheri said, striding past him toward the porch. “Asking about that car is the way to her heart. That rattletrap has more dimples than my thighs, but Lacy loves it.”

Lacy stepped from the car, reminding herself that she had a mission to complete and Clint was not a distraction she needed. “What? No name-calling?”

He shrugged, tipping his hat back a tad with his thumb in that now-familiar way of his. Those disturbing eyes settled on her.

“To each his own,” he said dryly. “I figure you also have a picture of Elvis hanging in a prominent place on your wall.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” she teased, moving toward the porch, intent on getting away.

Clint’s chuckle behind her was snuffed out by a burst of laughter from inside the house up ahead. Against her better judgment, Lacy slowed her pace on the pebbled path.

The short path snaked around a huge oak tree flanked by massive rosebushes. She paused beside the oak’s twisted trunk. Clint paused beside her, and over the fragrant aroma of roses she caught the fresh, clean scent of soap. A clean soap smell had always been Lacy’s favorite.

“So, why the infatuation for Elvis?”

Elvis? Who was Elvis? “It’s not really,” she said, trying to ignore Clint’s nearness and the odd fact that he seemed to want to talk to her after he’d stormed out of her salon like she’d grown horns.

“I—I like his music,” she stammered, glancing to the rose beside her, amazed at her trepidation. “He made wonderful music, but his life was a shambles.” Looking up, she lifted an eyebrow at Clint. “I’ve always felt sorry for him. I tend to want to fix…things.”

“So, you like to fix people?” He studied her intently.

Lacy lifted a shoulder and smiled. “It’s a weakness I have.”

“So you came to Mule Hollow to fix things? I hope you learned your lesson out there today. Any more stunts like that one this afternoon, and you’ll be the one needing to be fixed.”

So much for feeling all warm and fuzzy about the man. Lacy straightened her shoulders and met the infuriating man’s gaze straight on. “I thank you very much for having your men finish painting for me this afternoon. However, I did fine before they got there, and I would have finished without them.”

“You would have been in bed from that heatstroke I keep warning you about.”

“Clint Matlock, you are the most irritating man I have ever met.”

“Me?
Ha.
” He stepped closer and glared down at her from beneath the brim of his hat.

“Ha.” Lacy snapped. Feeling like a prizefighter, she stepped up to Clint. “You are a high-handed domineering bully. If all the men in this town are half as bullheaded as you, then we can all forget this ‘revive-the-town plan’ right now. And as for you, you can forget about being included. I’m not even going to try and find you a mate. It would be impossible.”

“And what makes you think I need
you
to help me find a woman?”

Lacy glanced to her right, then to her left, before locking eyes with him again. “I don’t see any around here.”

“Well, I’m busy,” he grunted. “And I’m not interested in a ball and chain anyway.”

“Yeah, right, get original,” she added dryly. “That’s what they all say.”

“What about you? I don’t see any men hanging on your arm, lady.”

“So—” she paused, still glaring up at him “—I don’t need a man hanging on my arm. I’m just fine on my own. I don’t need that headache. I’m staying single for now.”

“Well, little darlin’,” he drawled as he turned away. His last words floated back to Lacy over his shoulder. “That shouldn’t be too hard.”

Ohhh…she wanted to throw something. She held in a scream and watched him saunter up the steps and into the house. How dare he imply that she couldn’t find a husband if she wanted to. She could. She really could. If she wanted.
Couldn’t I, Lord?

“Lacy Brown,” Norma Sue yelled, from behind the screen door, “come on in here, girl.”

She took a deep breath and sniffed. Of course she wasn’t crying. She never did such a thing. It was tension. Or allergies. “I’m coming, Norma Sue. You sure have some nice roses.” She hurried to the porch, up the wooden steps and through the open door.
Dear Lord, please tell me what’s going on here.

“Clint,” Norma Sue boomed across the room a few moments later. He leaned against the mantel talking
with Sheri and a cowboy who had helped paint the salon earlier. “What were you thinking, leaving Lacy out on the porch all alone? What happened to your manners?”

“Lacy’s an independent woman. She didn’t want me holding the door open for her.”

“Clint—”

“Norma Sue, Clint is right,” Lacy broke in. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

Norma Sue looked skeptically from one to the other. Then her face split open with a wide grin. “I imagine you can. Come on in here and meet Roy Don and J.P. Then we’ll head out back to eat on the deck.”

Lacy wasn’t too sure she liked Norma’s smile. Like she knew something Lacy didn’t. Well, if she thought the sparks flying tonight were of a romantic nature, then she was wrong. Dead wrong. Clint Matlock could eat his hat.

What kind of fool was she? Lacy asked herself a few hours later. She was stranded on the side of the road with an empty tank of gas and a long, dark way to walk.

Clint had left Norma Sue’s shortly after finishing his meal, and then J.P. had given Sheri a ride home. Esther and Adela had arrived before dinner so Lacy stayed and talked about plans for Mule Hollow. Lacy had disclosed her desire to paint all the buildings along Main Street
bright colors. She’d been happy when they understood her motivation and had offered to petition the townfolk for the money to buy all the paint. They also assured her that there would be plenty of cowboys who would show up to help with the painting. They had volleyed ideas back and forth until the wee hours of the morning, so excited that they could actually visualize the renewing of Mule Hollow. They also agreed that the ad campaign would need to continue and Adela volunteered to come up with booth ideas at the fair to raise money for the fund.

When they’d all finally headed home, Lacy was keyed up. Far too restless for sleep, she’d taken a drive in the country.

Driving or jogging always relaxed her. As an over-active child, she’d had trouble sleeping. Her mother learned early that a ride in the car lulled her to sleep. Though money had always been scarce, her mother had always managed to keep enough gas in the tank so Lacy could get the rest she needed. Now, driving simply relaxed her and gave her joy. She liked driving with the top down. Feeling the cool breeze on her skin and in her hair prepared her for bed like a gentle massage. She also found that that was when the Lord spoke to her.

He hadn’t spoken tonight. He seemed to have abandoned her instead, since she was stranded in the middle of nowhere, flat out of gas. Gas she was sure was
there before supper. And the Lord was nowhere in sight.

Nothing was. The moon’s earlier light was now hidden behind a heavy overcast sky. Shadows loomed everywhere.

A strange mournful howl filled the night air. A shiver raced down Lacy’s spine. “I’m not scared. I’m not scared,” she chanted, rubbing her arms. “Just a coyote looking for love,” she mumbled.

Midnight drives down well-lit city streets, she was used to, not dark country roads. Searching uneasily through the darkness, she could barely see the white stripe on the pavement. She prided herself on not being easily frightened; however, it wouldn’t hurt if the shadows lifted a bit. Better yet, she wished clicking her heels together three times would get her home and into her warm bed. The chances of that happening or of a car showing up were about even.

She had never felt farther away from the Lord than in that instant. That was a feeling she could not take.

She began to pray.
Oh, Lord, Father, You have my attention. Please forgive me for my many transgressions, especially the ones involving Clint Matlock. I’ll try to watch my temper around him and show You through me. I’m sorry I’m having such a hard time doing that. It seems I keep promising You one thing and then turning around and blowing it. I’ll do better, but obviously I can’t do it on my own. Please help. Now,
about me here in the dark, I’m kind of scared and wonder if You could please get me home safely. In Your name and will to be done I pray, amen.

Stiffening her spine and feeling better, she started walking. She hadn’t taken two steps when a loud clap of thunder split the sky open and rain poured down upon her.

“Oh, not now,” she sputtered, looking heavenward. She knew Texas weather was unpredictable, but this was ridiculous! She was drenched in a matter of seconds as she hurried back to the Caddy and tried raising the roof. It was stuck, and helplessly she watched as the floorboard started filling with water.