The Trouble With Lacy Brown (7 page)

“Great. Just
great,
” she yelled. Another blast of thunder rebuked her, roaring through the night. “Okay, Lord,” she squeaked. “What are You trying to teach me?” Looking around for some kind of shelter, she found nothing. She couldn’t have seen anything anyway if it had been right under her nose, it was so dark.

Okay, Lord, now what?
She lifted her face to the rain. The plump drops plopped and pounded her skin, rolling over her like cool water from a sprinkler. A mind-jolting crack of thunder rocked Lacy from her thoughts and propelled her to action and she started walking.

Her white sundress slapped about her calves, her sandals flopped against the soles of her feet and her hair turned into a sopping mop that kept sliding over
her eyes. She had walked about a mile when a cool breeze blew in and she started shivering uncontrollably.

After the second mile she reached a bridge that only hours before had been over a small gurgling stream. Now, it was covered by a raging flood.

Lord, Lord, why are You doing this to me?
she questioned, utterly deflated. Her optimism plummeted. What was she going to do? She could try to cross in her sandals, but the water was flowing so rapidly, she couldn’t be certain of her footing. If she’d worn her jeans and boots she would have at least had adequate protection against things that might cut her feet beneath the water. But nooo! Not tonight. She had chosen to wear a dress. It really made her mad when she had realized earlier in her stroll that she’d chosen the dress to impress Clint Matlock.

Tales of people drowning while attempting to cross floodwaters passed through her mind, but she knew she had to do something.

“Think positive, Lacy. Think. Someone will come looking for me. Sheri will send someone to find me.” Except their phone hadn’t been connected yet. She took a shuddering breath, fighting back the tears in her waterlogged eyes. Thunder clapped again, causing her to jump before turning and heading back toward her car.

Gloomy images of being found the following morn
ing, bloated and blue, floated before her. She sniffled and swiped at her nose. She’d had such high hopes when she’d come to Mule Hollow. Now look where she was, on a deserted road on foot. Alone. And other than Sheri, not one person would miss her if she didn’t make it home.

C
lint halted his truck at the far edge of the bridge that stood between him and the road leading home. He’d kept his word and left Norma Sue’s early, going to the back pasture in the hope of catching the rustlers in the act of stealing his cattle. The fact that he’d also been escaping from Lacy Brown didn’t count. But images had followed him. Images of her in that white dress. Of the way it flowed about her like a gentle caress. Of the way her eyes sparkled in challenge when he’d goaded her. Even before the rain began to fall, he’d lost interest in rustlers.

Now, as usual after a disappointing night, he wanted a fresh cup of coffee and a warm bed. And dreamless sleep. Through his racing windshield wipers he gauged the depth of the rising water, shifted his truck into gear and eased the big four-wheel-drive forward. His vehi
cle was made to handle rough country, to pass through hazards when most cars and trucks had to turn away. Still, he proceeded with caution. Even though he knew this bridge, knew it was built to withstand these seasonal floods, he understood he was taking a risk. Once on the other side, anxious to get home, he pressed the accelerator. He’d gone about two miles when suddenly out of nowhere a misty shape appeared in the center of the road. He yanked hard on the steering wheel, only to be met by the looming pink form of Lacy Brown’s ridiculous Cadillac. Slamming on his brakes, he gave one last powerful pull on the wheel and prayed he didn’t hit anything or anybody.

Out of control, the mammoth truck skidded and twisted until it came to a jerking halt deep in a muddy ditch. Unharmed, Clint sprang from the cab and hit the mud running, hoping and still praying that he’d missed the person he’d seen staggering down the center of the lane. It must have been Lacy Brown.

Lightning sizzled across the sky, immediately followed by a thunderous boom that rocked the ground. In the flash of light, he caught sight of the apparition frozen at the side of the road.

“Lacy?” he yelled in disbelief over the howling wind. “Lacy Brown?” What was she doing out in the middle of nowhere?

“C-Clint—”

The strangled sob reached him just as another clap
of thunder and bolt of lightning ripped across the night. She flung herself across the ten yards separating them and into his arms. She was freezing and shivering uncontrollably. How long had she been trapped in this flash flood? He didn’t stop to ask her questions, but lifted her easily in his arms and hurried back to his truck. He knew he had to get her out of the storm.

“I th-thought I’d killed you,” she whispered through chattering teeth.

“Shh,” he murmured against her ear, hugging her harder to his chest. “You’re safe now.”

“S-stupid of m-me,” she stuttered, still shivering.

“No, not stupid. The weather out here is unpredictable. There was a chance of rain in the forecast. Not a flash flood.”

He made it to the truck without slipping in the mud and managed to get them both into the cab without falling. He’d left the engine running, so he immediately tried to back out of the deep ditch, but his four-wheel drive wasn’t engaging. Something seemed to have snapped in the crash.

“I’m not good luck for y-you.”

Her voice was a hoarse whisper. A chord inside Clint’s chest tightened. Reaching out, he pulled her cold body against him. “We have to get you out of those wet clothes so you’ll warm up.” He rummaged behind the seat of the truck and pulled out a crumpled denim work shirt. “This thing is a mess but it’s pretty
clean. It was too hot to work in yesterday, so I worked in my T-shirt instead. You can put it on and then use my sleeping bag to wrap up in. You’ll warm up in no time.”

A slight nod and a shiver were all she managed as she accepted the shirt. Clint turned on the heater to help get the chill out of the air then reached past her for the sleeping bag he’d brought for the long night he’d expected to spend waiting and watching for rustlers. His thermos of coffee lay next to the bag.

“I’ll get out of the truck and give you some privacy while you change out of that dress. Here, I’ll unroll the sleeping bag for you, use it for more privacy if you want to. Can you manage all right?” She was shaking so bad it worried him as he shook out the sleeping bag.

As if refuting his concern, she nodded, “I can do it. You’re going to get wet, though.” Her eyes were as big as the moon.

“I’ll be fine.” He reached under the seat and pulled out his slicker. “Honk the horn when you’re done. I’ll come back and we can have some hot coffee.” Wrenching his gaze away from her pale face, he pushed open the door and stepped into the rain. He yanked on the slicker and stomped through the mud to stand beside the road, contemplating their situation while the rain washed over him.

It took her about ten minutes to change. When she
honked the horn, he was more than ready to climb back into the warm, dry truck.

“I can’t believe how cold I am. In the dead of s-summer,” she chattered.

Clint could see her arms as she spread her dress on the dash of his truck. “It’s your sunburn plus the wind chilling the rain,” he said, glad he’d found her before she’d been exposed to the night any longer. He’d only been out in the downpour briefly, but he was feeling the chill, too.

She had his thick shirt buttoned to the neck and he could tell at a glance that it totally swallowed her.

Despite having burrowed into the depths of the sleeping bag, she was still shivering and pale. Exhaustion etched on her usually animated face. The night’s ordeal had taken its toll on her, and Clint wanted nothing more in that moment than to see all the energy he’d grown used to seeing bubble out of Lacy return.

At odds with himself, he poured her a cup of coffee. “Drink this,” he said gruffly. Her fingers shook, taking the cup from him. Automatically he wrapped his hands around hers and lifted the cup to her lips.

When her lips brushed his fingers as she took a sip of the steaming brew, he froze. There was no way he could deny the chemistry between them. Lacy’s gaze met his and he knew without doubt she felt the same.

He didn’t want this.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, looking away to the rain pounding against the window. “I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t—” her voice wobbled “—hadn’t shown up.”

Dear Lord
—his quick prayer was stopped by the disarming, vulnerability in her eyes. She looked away, and he sensed she didn’t like feeling weak. Couldn’t tolerate it.

And that made him want to reach and brush a damp curl from her forehead. He didn’t, though, suspecting she wouldn’t appreciate that, either. Instead he said, “You would have thought of something.” It was true. He’d only known her for a few days, but he knew nothing would hold Lacy Brown down for long. Though she’d had a few mishaps since coming to Mule Hollow, he had no doubt that she could take care of herself. It was obvious she was a strong woman in a small package. Wacky, but strong.

He poured her another cup of coffee and handed it to her. Her hand trembled again as she accepted the cup, but she offered him a weak smile of thanks before taking a sip and looking back into the night. The sound of the storm raging about them, the constant barrage on the windows cocooned them, as if they were standing behind a turbulent waterfall, cut off from the world.

“It seems like you’re always saving me,” she said softly, nervously.

Clint chuckled uneasily. “All in a day’s work, ma’am.”

Lacy shifted in the blanket. “So what now?” she asked, taking a long, slow breath.

Clint studied the night. It was safer than looking at Lacy. “We wait for the rain to let up then I’ll go for help.”

“I’ll go with you,” she practically sang.

That sounded more like the Lacy he knew. But she wasn’t coming. “No way. It’s too dangerous, and it’ll be a miracle if you don’t catch pneumonia as it is.” He met her wide gaze and hung on to his guns with everything he had.

Looking into Clint’s eyes, Lacy was suddenly aware of the solitude of their situation, of the rain pounding out its rhythmic music on the roof. The stubborn man. His eyes crinkled around the edges as he turned away. She watched him pull his hat low over his eyes, hunch his shoulders over the steering wheel and stare into the night.

Something inside her knotted up. For a moment the intensity of the feeling threatened to start a flow of tears. Confused by the strength of her reaction to Clint, she watched the muscle of his jaw tighten and relax. A tense silence settled around them. She wished for the rain to stop, so they could escape the confines of the truck and she could clear her mind and concentrate on her mission.

After a while Clint cleared his throat. “So, why did you choose Mule Hollow?”

His question was soft; it surprised her. It also gave her a focus other than the man sitting beside her. She latched on to the subject change with everything she had.

“Have you ever wanted something with all your heart?”

Clint didn’t answer, just looked at her funny and then nodded. One quick defined nod and then he looked away again.

Lacy swallowed. “Me, too. Only, the whole picture wouldn’t snap into place. Like, I knew I wanted to open my own salon. I saved every cent I could for four years, waiting on the right opportunity. There were times when I thought I’d found the right place. But things never worked out and the plans would fall apart.”

Clint turned to watch her and Lacy smiled, feeling self-conscious about telling him such personal things. Things only Sheri knew. “And then last year I gave all the baggage of my life over to the Lord, and He set me free from all of it, my past hurts and sins. I began looking for a ministry immediately, and that’s when the big picture started to come into focus. It had been there for me all along and I hadn’t seen it or been ready for it.” Excited at the recollection, she turned toward Clint, beaming. “I had a ministry right in my own backyard as the saying goes, right there under my nose. I could have a wonderful ministry standing behind the chair cutting hair.”

“You see, I admire Paul in the Bible so much. His zeal at ministering to people, his obedience is humbling to me. He gave up so much and was so single-minded in his purpose. I wanted that, too, so I started praying fervently for direction…and then I ran across Adela’s ad…” She paused, remembering the feeling that had overcome her reading the ad for the first time. “And God spoke to me. And I knew—I knew that Mule Hollow was where He would have me come.”

Clint gave her a lopsided smile, and in the shadows of his hat brim thrown by the pale light from the dash, his eyes glinted. Lacy’s stomach did a flip-flop.

“Of course Sheri thought I was crazy.” She laughed nervously. “But what else is new? You see, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m a bit like Peter instead of Paul. I’m kind of headstrong and I put my foot in my mouth a lot.”

Clint chuckled. “No, I hadn’t noticed that at all.”

“Look, bucko,” she said, grinning and feeling weirdly at ease, “laugh all you want, but Mule Hollow will be everything I see in here.” She tapped her forehead. “If you could only see what I see when I look down Main Street.”

“I’m afraid to see what you see.’

“You just wait,” she huffed.

“I already have, thanks to you.” He tugged at his hat, securing it to his head. “Believe me, pink is not my color.”

Lacy smiled, remembering him doused in pink paint. “No. I guess it isn’t.”

A comfortable silence stretched between them, and feeling relaxed, Lacy snuggled against the seat. The sound of the rain beating on the window beside her head was hypnotic. She hadn’t slept well for days; now the rain, the heat exhaustion she’d felt earlier and her ordeal before Clint rescued her, all overwhelmed her. Of their own will, her eyes closed.

“And a husband? That isn’t part of your dream? Your vision?”

His voice echoed as if through a long tunnel. “I don’t need a husband,” she answered without opening her eyes. “My dad ruined my mom’s dreams.” She yawned, snuggled deeper into the sleeping bag. “No man is getting the chance to take my dreams—” She yawned. “I want to be single-minded in my quest for God…like Paul.” She managed to lift her eyelids briefly and met Clint’s brooding, dark stare. Then her lashes drifted down and sleep captured her.

In the darkness, Clint listened to the soft slow rhythm of Lacy’s breathing. Sleep had overcome her quickly; her words had slurred and then she was out. It seemed she was an all-or-nothing-type person. She ran on high-octane fuel, and when the tank ran out, the tank ran out. He found the idea touching. He knew that when she woke she’d be her raring-to-go, drive-a-man-crazy-self again…she did drive him crazy.

The thought wasn’t at all what he wanted to think.
He knew that the less time he spent in the cab of his truck with her, the better off he’d be. Listening to the gentle sounds of her slumber was not easy on his mind. He wanted the rain to stop. He wanted out of his truck, and no matter how many times his mind wondered about how it would feel to kiss Lacy Brown, he wanted to get her home and away from him.

She was everything he didn’t want in a woman. Everything…well, maybe not everything. He liked her sense of humor, her love of life, her love of the Lord…. Not many women out there wanted to be like Paul. He smiled. She was like Peter though. In his mind’s eye he saw Peter stepping out into that turbulent water, not thinking about anything except getting to Jesus. Clint saw Lacy hopping over the side of the boat in the same manner she hopped over the door of her precious Caddy, intent only on getting to her Savior. The picture brought another smile to his lips.

Here he was, stuck in a ditch in the dead of night, and he was smiling. Since Lacy had blasted into town, he’d smiled more than he’d smiled in years.

He glanced into the darkness and studied the night. Did he want to smile? He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing in Lacy’s direction. Thoughts of his mother intruded suddenly. What if Lacy was just a flighty gal, who everyone thought was something she really wasn’t? What if everything she’d said was a lie?

Clint knew he needed out of the truck. If she was
the real thing, he needed to protect her from small-town talk. On the other hand, if she was every man’s nightmare, he needed to be away from her, because by no choice of his own, he’d been through one nightmare with his mother and all of her lies.