“Catch ya later,” Lacy sang. “’Bye, Norma Sue and Esther Mae. Try to be good, why don’t ya.”
“Hey, what fun would that be?” Norma Sue laughed, studying her work. “Don’t you agree, Molly?”
“Oh yeah. Sure thing.” She raised an eyebrow at the two spicy women. Picking up a strand Lacy had already strung across the floor, she climbed the ladder, listening to the two friends chatter on, returning to their previous banter without skipping a beat.
“What would possess you to think about cutting your hair like that?” Norma Sue asked.
Esther Mae gave an exasperated sigh. “I feel fat. I thought maybe a shorter cut might help.”
“Esther, it doesn’t work that way!”
“Well, something has to give. I tell you I can’t fit into my dress,” she wailed. “The wedding’s two weeks away and I’m as bloated as a cow. I think Sam gave me the wrong prescription. I’ve been taking my new derivatives and all they’re doing is sending me trotting—”
“Pulleeze!” Norma’s hand shot up. “Skip the trotting part. And the word is diuretics! And why are you blaming Sam?”
Esther harrumphed. “The sign does read Sam’s Diner and Pharmacy. And, he has been acting weird lately is all I’m saying. He’s even being rude. And you know Sam—he might be grumpy sometimes but not rude and distracted. I’m telling you something’s up.”
“Maybe he’s just being cranky for no reason—it happens sometimes. Or maybe he isn’t getting enough sleep,” Molly offered.
“Well, he’s been that way for days—I think he’s thinking about Adela. I think something is wrong. Haven’t you noticed the food at the diner hasn’t been up to snuff lately?
Norma Sue nodded and stopped braiding. “Now that you mention it, Adela has been extra quiet lately.”
Molly thought about that. Everyone could tell there was something special between Adela and Sam. But there seemed to be an invisible line drawn between them. They always sat beside each other at church, Sam making certain Miss Adela was comfortable after she came down from playing the piano, fussing over her sweater when it fell off her shoulders as she sat down. It was the sweetest thing Molly had ever seen. It was one of the things that made Molly have some hope about—well, she wasn’t going to think about that right now. She had too many other things pressing to be worried about why Sam wouldn’t ask Adela to marry him.
“Maybe we need to do something,” Esther Mae snapped, sitting up straighter and drawing Molly back to their conversation.
“Oh no, you don’t.”
“Norma Sue, you know those two are in love. They need our help. Tell her Molly. Tell her, it’s our duty to make sure Adela and Sam see the writing on the wall.”
“But, I—” Molly felt trapped as she stared at the wall and willed herself to be invisible. She was already in enough trouble for messing with Bob’s life. She didn’t want Sam and Adela mad at her, too. They seemed to have things under control.
“Yeah, Molly,” Norma Sue chimed in. “Maybe Esther Mae has a point.”
“I…well.” Molly scrambled down the ladder and grabbed her backpack from where she’d set it by the door. “Look. I just remembered something I forgot to do. Y’all can figure this out on your own. Do whatever you feel you need to do.”
Feeling guilty about abandoning the job, she backed out the door and closed it before she could hear their startled replies. She was still too shaken up over Bob being so put out with her. She wasn’t cut out for all this matchmaking any more than she was cut out to be a decorator.
She was a reporter. She was supposed to stand back and record what was going on around her. To document it in a professional, even creative way was something she strove hard to do. But she’d never experienced anyone being upset with her work, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Not sure at all.
As a matter of fact, Bob’s displeasure had brought up a whole cache of hidden questions she didn’t want to think about right now.
She needed to write.
She needed to write and not think about anything other than the words on the paper.
And that pretty much summed up how she’d always looked at life. Until lately, when the words refused to flow.
It was nearly eleven o’clock as Molly hoisted her backpack to her shoulder and started to cross Main Street. She paused, thinking about poor unsuspecting Sam and Adela. Norma Sue and Esther Mae’s snooping might be just what they needed to take that next step toward the altar—it had worked many times before. But Molly had never actually had a hands-on experience in matchmaking. Sure she had written some articles that expanded on the original ad campaign that Adela, Norma Sue and Esther Mae had started with. But she had never point-blank picked two people and set out to manipulate them to fall in love.
Then again, that wasn’t really what was happening at all, not exactly. No one could make a couple fall in love, not even the matchmaking pros of Mule Hollow. There had to be that special connection. “Sparks,” as the ladies were fond of calling it—and they were hawks at spotting those romantic little embers. And it made them happy. And she was happy for them if that was what they wanted to do. She, on the other hand, was content to simply write her articles. She certainly didn’t have the knack for seeing sparks of a romantic nature. Now sparks of a disturbing nature—that just might be her niche!
What was happening to Bob was as close to getting involved on a personal level as she’d ever gotten. That was a really sad thing if she let herself dwell on it. She had a problem with closeness. But really, with the life she had chosen, closeness wasn’t a factor.
She stepped off the plank sidewalk and started across Main Street. At the sound of a fast-approaching vehicle, she glanced over her shoulder, jumping out of the way just in time for a gray minivan to whiz past her. There was nothing like nearly getting creamed to make a person lose her train of thought. Molly’s mouth fell open in a silent scream as she glimpsed the driver looking over her shoulder talking, completely unaware she’d almost mowed someone down.
Molly’s heart was pounding at the near miss. She couldn’t move for a few moments, trying to collect her wits, but her eyes were glued to the disappearing van of death.
She didn’t recognize it so she assumed it was from out of town. At the end of the street, at Prudy’s Garage, the brake lights came on and the vehicle careened to a halt beside the gas pump. It had no sooner stopped moving than suddenly heads popped out of every window! From this distance Molly thought it looked like the van literally exploded with kids. Five at least. No make that six…seven!
She was counting, when the driver stepped from the vehicle in her spandex-looking black pants and her four-inch red heels.
Oh my. That didn’t look like a mother of seven. Molly immediately wondered what her story was? Her imagination started chugging, drawing her toward Prudy’s. Stranger in town. Car full of kids. Was it by accident? Was she a woman looking for a cowboy?
There certainly could be a story in this, despite the bad headline. As Molly drew closer, the woman leaned back into the van and pulled out what looked suspiciously like a cake. A pound cake. Yes, from this distance she thought it looked like a pound cake settled on a square of foil-covered cardboard, wrapped with pink transparent plastic wrap. She squinted in the sunlight and could see a purple square in the center, like a name tag.
Was there a cake sale going on somewhere Molly didn’t know about? Maybe there was a fund-raiser going on? No, she would have known if there was a fund-raiser. That was her job to know these things.
Prudy ambled out of the grease bay squinting at the woman through his oil-speckled glasses. Molly racked her brain, making mental notes as she tugged her pencil from behind her ear and pulled her emergency notepad from her back pocket. Nearing Prudy’s, she heard the woman ask a question. Molly knew it was a question, because all of a sudden Prudy’s greasy hands began to move and wave and gesture. Everyone knew Gordon P. Rudy—Prudy for short—talked with his hands. It was fairly en
tertaining. And since Mule Hollow was such a small place, a person needed all the entertaining they could get. The problem was that most of the time Molly didn’t understand Prudy’s sign language!
Nobody did.
So there she was, pencil poised, paper in hand, only to watch as her story sashayed back to her van, yelled at the kids to buckle up, then sped off.
Okay, so maybe there wasn’t a story there. Prudy, obviously not heartbroken or in love, scratched his head and ambled back into the building without giving the disappearing van a second look.
Molly paused. It left her to wonder whether she was so desperate for a story that she’d begun to imagine leads. What was so unique about what had just happened? Honestly nothing. She was just desperate.
Arrggghhh! She stomped her foot, rammed the pencil back behind her ear and contemplated her situation.
She had to get over this. She had to move on, and she would. Her well wouldn’t stay dry without a fight. Serious reporters didn’t let a thing like this get in their way. They didn’t freeze up because of…because of…because of what? She didn’t even know what to call what had happened to her.
Stuffing the notepad back into her pocket, she abandoned the rest of her walk to Prudy’s. How hopeless was she, that she was going to try to write a story out of a woman asking for directions? Head wagging, she made it across the street, beelining toward her special rock. But first she needed coffee.
A big cup. The nastier the better to hit the spot. Turning on her toe, she detoured to Sam’s. Sam’s trademark coffee was dark and caustic, and had on occasions supercharged her brain after a late night of writing. Today she just needed a jolt. She had definitely not been doing any writing!
And besides, after what Norma Sue and Esther Mae had said, she thought she needed to check up on Sam. Maybe something was wrong. Maybe he needed a friend. He had seemed out of sorts lately.
“How do, Molly,” he greeted her as soon as she pushed open the door. “The usual?”
She plodded to the counter, letting her backpack slide off her shoulder onto the stool, suddenly feeling drained. Glancing around the old-fashioned diner/drugstore, it was an odd thing not to see Applegate and Stanley playing their daily game of checkers by the window. But at the moment she was glad the place was empty. Maybe she could get Sam to talk. She was, after all, a reporter and that was what she did. Right?
“Hi, Sam. Do you have any old coffee this morning? Maybe some that you forgot to take off the burner last night. Some that’s as thick as mud and stronger than bootstraps.”
Sam frowned, wiped his hands on his white apron and reached for a cup. “That bad, huh.”
She nodded. “’Fraid so.” She hated to be so glum. Especially since she was here to find out about him. Why had he seemed so moody lately? It hit her that maybe it was because of Applegate and Stanley moving to Pete’s.
She watched him pour coffee into a large paper cup for her. He’d ordered the paper cups especially for her so she could take her coffee to the woods and write. “Sam, are you feeling okay? Is something bothering you?” There. She’d sliced right to the root. Sam was, as far as Molly was concerned, the sweetest man on earth, even though he hid it under an endearingly gruff exterior.
“Just peachy,” he said. “Don’t you be worrying yer pretty little head about me none. Worry about poor Bob. You need to give one of them cowboys some newsprint time other than Bob. That cowboy’s had all the ribbin’ he can take, Molly girl.”
The acid in Molly’s stomach churned up once more. “Did they tease him terribly?”
“Now Molly, you know how these cowboys are. ’Fraid I did it too.” He looked repentant, but only momentarily.
Molly slapped her hand on the counter. “You should be ashamed of yourselves!”
“Ashamed of what? That’s the way men are. You gave ’em ammo and they used it. Don’t you go athinking Bob wouldn’t do it too—well, now that I think about it, Bob just might be the one guy who wouldn’t do it. But that’s neither here nor there. They was just havin’ a peep of fun and he’ll get over it. But you still need to focus on somebody else. Now go get to work. Mule Hollow needs you, so stop lollygagging around here.”
Hiding a smile, Molly shouldered her pack and backed toward the door. “That’s why I came by, not for the turpentine you call coffee, but for your abuse. Sets me straight every time. I love you anyway.”
And she did. She and Sam had a connection. They teased each other always and loved every minute of it. It was another one of the things that connected her to Mule Hollow. Sam was like a father figure to her. Of course he didn’t know that. No one did. Until Lacy Matlock had introduced her to the Lord, Molly hadn’t felt connected to anyone. Because of her own father’s indifference to her, she’d stopped seeking personal connections with people early in her life. What she hadn’t gotten at home she hadn’t sought out elsewhere. She’d wondered sometimes if something in her was broken, but she didn’t worry too much about it. Some people just had a bad home life, and she was one of them. Besides, she was a reporter with an agenda aiming for bigger things. Each story she wrote was a specific notch upward toward achieving her goals. Making her dreams come true.
Dreams she’d been dreaming…for years. Those dreams had held her together when life at home threatened to break her apart. A Houston businessman, her dad had been hard to live with. She could still hear the fights—fights that had driven her to hide in her closet, the way a child attempts to drown out the constant turmoil. It had been her imagination that saved her. Dreaming of the world that lay outside the boundaries of her small tumultuous existence had helped her cope.
Mule Hollow, though she loved it dearly, and though it represented more of a home to her than anything she’d ever known growing up, was still just a stopping point. She would leave it behind when the time was right.
She dreamed of being overseas, writing for one of the five respected magazines or newspapers she’d set her mind on. She knew if she just kept working her plan, she could achieve her dream. Her time was near. She’d garnered some interest and sent out résumés and felt confident her break was about to come.
But she hadn’t meant to hurt Bob in the process of making her dreams come true. Sweet, wonderful Bob.
The cowboys at Sam’s had probably been horrible.
No wonder he’d been so upset with her. So curt and so unlike himself.
Still. The man had said specifically that he wanted a wife. She hadn’t gotten that fact wrong and she hadn’t written anything hurtful. Sure, he’d been teased, but would he hold that against her when he found Miss Right?
Molly thought not. Despite her worries, if she helped him find his one true love, Molly felt he would be so happy with her that he’d give her a big ol’ kiss for helping him!
Not that the kiss she was thinking he’d be giving her would be anything like the kind he would give Miss Right.
Molly frowned as she stepped off the sidewalk. For a bizarre minute there she’d imagined the other kiss, the one reserved for the woman of his dreams.
The loud roar of an engine interrupted her runaway thoughts. She was grateful for the interruption. Turning around, she watched as a powerful purple-and-chrome motorcycle pulled to a stop in front of the diner. It was an unusually busy day for Mule Hollow. Counting the walk-in at Lacy’s, this made three out-of-town visitors today. And it wasn’t even the weekend.
That was really peculiar.
But then, what hadn’t been strange about the past few days?
Chapter Five
Bob spotted the van before he pulled across the cattle guard on his way into town for more nails. It was parked beside his mailbox. The windows were rolled down and there were little kids hanging out every window. There was a woman standing beside the driver’s door waving at him.
Thinking she must be having car trouble, he parked, hopped from the truck and jogged over to offer his assistance.
“Ma’am, can I help you?”
She patte
d her fluffy orange hair and rubbed her hands down the front of her tight black pants—at least he thought they were pants. They were so snug they could have been skin.
“Hi, you’re Bob,” she said.
By the way she was blinking, Bob thought maybe something was in one of her eyes. And her voice sounded funny, like maybe she had a cold, all hoarse and deep. And she talked real slow.
“I can tell by the dark curls and dimples.” She drawled out the word “tell” with a dramatic Southern accent.
Bob took a step back, wondering how she knew who he was? He hadn’t shown her his dimples. They only showed up when he smiled. And he wasn’t smiling right now. He couldn’t very well deny who he was, even though he had a really bad feeling about what was to come. He tipped his hat to her, it was the mannerly thing to do. “Yes ma’am. I’m Bob. Do I know you?”
She smiled a giant red smile and her eyes went to fluttering like she was about to take flight. He did not know this woman. He’d have remembered something about her if he did. There was plenty to remember, then again maybe he’d forgotten it on purpose.
“Well, you don’t know me exactly, but I know you. I’ve been reading Molly Popp’s articles. She say-ed you were ready to find a wife. Well, here I am to put my name in the hat.”
Bob felt his toes start tingling. Like a slow boil building in a pan of water, he could feel anger rolling up his body.
“I’m looking for a husband. I know this sounds weird, me showing up like this, but a girl needs to throw caution to the wind when she sees something spea-cial.”
He was certain he had misunderstood what the woman was saying. At least, he was hoping he’d misunderstood what the woman had said. But as she leaned toward him, smiling brightly and with what looked like not only a blinking problem, but now a supersonic twitch in her left eye, he bit back a groan. His hearing was perfectly fine and the woman was not afflicted with some bewildering twitching disorder.
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