The Trouble With Lacy Brown

by Debra Clopton

  Clint Matlock needed a shower, a couple of cups of Sam’s thick coffee and a noose. It had been another sleepless night, trying to catch a bunch of thieving rustlers. He was mad enough to follow in his great-great-granddaddy’s footsteps—hangin’ ’em first and asking questions later.

  Heading toward Sam’s Diner he turned his Jeep onto Main Street and was surprised to see a strange car parked out front.

  “Would ya look at that,” he whistled, eyeing the ugliest pink convertible he’d ever seen. The ancient sedan was so big it dwarfed the slim woman standing beside it. A tiny, little thing, she had cotton-white hair that shot out from under a red ball cap in wild curls. Her back was to him as she looked down toward the old Howard estate, but there was no mistaking she was a woman. As he approached, she surprised him when she sprang over the closed door of the car and landed easily in the driver’s seat.

  Slowing his Jeep behind the vehicular monstrosity, he was swinging into the space beside the piece of junk when its engine roared to life. The next few moments went in slow motion as the pink bombshell blasted toward him, then halted abruptly. Clint reacted by slamming on his brakes, but his empty thermos rocketed into the floorboard, lodged between his boots, the brake and the gas pedal. He was wrestling to get it out of his way when he accidentally hit the gas. Like a torpedo being shot out of a nuclear submarine Clint’s Jeep raced toward the other car.

  The impact took Lacy by surprise. She had been in midscream, watching the terrified cat fly past her face and out of the Caddy when it happened. The metal-on-metal impact threw her into the steering wheel and she ricocheted back against the seat.

  Startled, to say the least, she’d managed to get a glance over her shoulder while being thrashed about and nearly croaked at the sight of the Jeep now connected to her back bumper.

  One minute it was a beautiful glorious morning, a morning of bright new beginnings, of wondrous dreams come true. Then her beloved baby’s rear end was flattened on the grill of a dusty black Jeep, and her dreams crashed and burned in a flash.

  She didn’t have the funds for a mess up like this!

  When the Caddy at last came to a shuddering halt, Lacy had her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

  The air was filled with a popping, bubbling sound followed by an ominous hissing and the noxious scent of something burning. Dear Lord, please don’t let anyone be harmed.

  Carefully prying her eyes open, she peeked into the rearview to see who had rammed her. Stormy, dark eyes framed by black smoke filled the mirror. She stared, transfixed by the reflection. The cowboy owning the angry eyes lifted one hand and with his thumb, pushed his beat-up straw Stetson off his forehead. His gaze never wavered from where it held hers in the mirror.

  Lacy knew she better start thinking, but she couldn’t; that gaze had taken root in her brain.

  Rooted to the seat of her Caddy she watched the man in her mirror unfold his long, long legs from the accordion-pleated Jeep. Oh, dear, she forgot everything. Even the cat and the need to figure out the mess she found herself in. The guy was good-looking, the manly take-your-breath-away kind of good-looking. “My, my—oh my…” she gasped. In the mirror she could tell that if he were a specimen of the cowboys this town had to offer, then her vision of success for Mule Hollow was way off base. Woo-hoo! The women of the world were in for such a treat.

  He was something, all lanky and lean, chiseled in all the right spots, and those eyes…flashing anger, clouded in turmoil— She lost him in the rearview as he made his way toward her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked from just over her left shoulder.

  His low Texas drawl was slow and gravelly and sent her pulse skittering as she twisted in her seat to face him. Oh, myyy… Swallowing hard, she looked up and up.

  “What were you thinking?” he continued, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

  And what a fine nose it was—

  “What were you thinking?” he repeated, holding his voice tightly in control.

  Lacy knew that voice. It happened a lot when she was around. “Nothing,” she squeaked. She hated squeaking.

  “Lady, if you don’t know how to drive this piece of junk, then you should keep it off the street.”

  “Now, wait just a minute,” she huffed, forgetting the cat for a moment to take up for her car. “You hit me. And watch what you call my Caddy!” Nobody picked on her prized possession. Scooting up, she perched on the top of her seat and glared at the rude cowboy. That a girl, Lace. Ohhh…up close, he was better than ever, kind of reminded her of a thirty-something Tom Selleck, minus the mustache. His sandy, brown hair ruffled around the edges of his Stetson. His eyes were deep amber-brown, spiked with charcoal and gold, probably why they were so vivid with anger.

  “This happens to be a classic. Why, Elvis drove a car identical to this one,” she deadpanned, finding it hard to stay mad at a guy who was going to help her business flourish.

  Why, if they’d use him as a poster child for the town, there would be a stampede of women rushing to settle in for the long haul.

  Cowboy’s scowl deepened. He placed his hands on his hips, squared his shoulders and let out a long, slow breath. With effort, she tore her gaze away to focus on her car and the damage to the rear bumper.

  “It…it’s true. This is a ’58 Caddy,” she stammered, vaulting from the car and landing lightly before Handsome Cowboy. Unsettled and nervous, she walked to the rear of her poor car for a better look and a distraction from him. The fender was crinkled and the bumper was smushed into a crooked smile. It would have to be fixed at some point, but thankfully her baby was still drivable. Thank goodness for the heavy metal of a ’58.

  Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of the Jeep. It had a caved-in front grill, a crumpled fender and more smoke than she liked still hissing from beneath the crinkled hood. It sounded like that horrible cat. “I am so sorry,” she sighed.

  “Not as sorry as I am. I hope you have insurance,” he said dryly.

  Lacy swallowed hard. It was the dreaded I word. She loved to drive, she spent hours in her car and she’d had only two other accidents that weren’t her fault, either. But her insurance company didn’t care at this point whose fault the accidents were, because of all the people out there to have run into she’d been hit by drivers driving illegally without insurance! “Well, actually—”

  “Wonderful.”

  Lacy’s stomach started to churn. She forced her flustered mind to think fast. One more claim against her insurance and she was in a crack without a shovel. Canceled! Hasta la vista, baby. No questions asked.

  “Got a problem here, Clint?”

  Lacy pivoted around and found she was staring at another very broad chest. This one belonged to an impossibly taller man in uniform. She had to tilt her head back in order to see all of him. Guess that ad wasn’t lying about those guys being tall.

  “Ma’am,” the giant said, tipping his gray Stetson at her. “Seems you’ve had a little mishap.”

  “Brady. Irresponsible woman blared out of the parking space and rammed me—”

  “I did not,” Lacy objected. “Sheriff, it’s true I pressed the accelerator because this cat attacked me, but I slammed on the brakes. I was already stopped when he snuck up on me. One minute he wasn’t there. The next, wham! Right behind me. I’m sure it has happened to you before—well, maybe not. But anyway, a horn would have been nice!”

  “What? Lady, you all but ran me down. Who had time to honk? One minute you were blasting out at me, the next you were stopped. All that starting and stopping caused my thermos to get tangled in the pedals.”

  “Aha! You did run into me.”

  Handsome Hunk took a step toward her, Lacy puffed her chest out and took a step forward. So there they stood, as eye-to-eye as her height could make it—but she was hanging in there for the count. She even thought her bravado was intimidating him a bit until he looked down his nicely tapered nose with his molten brown eyes, and chuckled.

  Chuckled! “Why are
you laughing?”

  “Because this is absurd. Who are you anyway?”

  “Lacy Brown,” she enunciated very slowly.

  “The trouble with you, Lacy Brown, is you don’t know when you’re whupped.”

  Lacy bristled. “Cowboy, I’ve never been whupped in my life. And I certainly don’t intend to start now. You don’t have a case.”

  A spattering of laughter broke out from the small crowd that had gathered. Lacy turned her attention to the nice giant standing quietly to the side. “Now, Sheriff—”

  “Brady,” he drawled.

  Lacy smiled and shook his offered hand. “Brady, I’m new in town and don’t mean to cause trouble. There must be some settlement we can agree on.”

  “Lacy,” Sheri gasped, walking out of the café. “What’s going on?”

  “N-nothing. Just meeting the locals.” She was squeaking again.

  Sheri eyed the damage to both automobiles. “So, I see the ding machine is at it again.”

  “Ding machine!” echoed Clint the Cowboy.

  Lacy glared at Sheri.

  “What about a ding machine?” Sheriff Brady asked, crossing his arms over his wide chest.

  “What about insurance?” Cowboy Clint asked, cocking his head to one side.

  His smoking gaze roamed slowly over her and suddenly her heart started banging against her ribs.

  “Well, I don’t—”

  “Figures,” he drawled.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She felt very unsettled by the way he was looking at her. But even more so by the way it was affecting her, even as her heart sank at the thought of how much her insurance company disliked her.

  “It means that anyone who would drive a car like that wouldn’t have insurance.”

  “Why, cowboy, you’re a snob.” He was just assuming that her insurance problems were her fault.

  “I certainly am not.”

  “Yes, you are. You decided that because I drive a car you don’t like, that I wouldn’t have insurance.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have insurance.”

  Lacy tapped her fingers on her thigh and glanced around at the expectant, slightly intrigued expressions watching her. Even Sheriff Brady was scratching his chin and taking in the spectacle she and Cowboy Clint were making. “I never said I didn’t have insurance.” You as good as don’t have any. You can’t use it, she thought miserably. “You see, the point is—”

  “That you caved in the front of my Jeep and you don’t have insurance. Therefore you’re going to have to pay up. Out of your pocket.”

  Out of her pocket. Things were not going well for Lacy. True, he had hit her, but the cat was the real culprit here and it was nowhere to be seen. She glanced from Clint to Sheriff Brady, who seemed completely oblivious to his duties, instead, content to enjoy the show. She had a couple of problems. What little money she had was earmarked for the opening of her salon. Without it, all her dreams would go down the tubes. But without her insurance, she couldn’t drive. She had to drive. Could her insurance company cancel her policy even if it wasn’t her fault?

  Licking her lips, she did some fast thinking. After she opened her salon she could fit the repairs into her budget if she had to, and maybe they wouldn’t have to make a claim on her Caddy, just the Jeep. If only Clint the Cowboy would have patience and give her the time, which he should since he had run into her. She didn’t mind paying for the damages to her car, because of the cat, but who did this guy think he was trying to railroad her into taking all the blame? This would not do at all. If there was one thing Lacy Brown didn’t like, it was a bully.

  “Where are my manners?” she asked, thinking it was time to turn the tables. “You know my complete name while I haven’t had the honor. It’s Clint—?”

  Her gram, rest her soul, had always said her smile could melt bricks and buy gold. Holding out her hand, she smiled sweetly and waited for what seemed like forever. I’m not trying to be deceptive, Lord. Really.

  Finally, after eyeing her hand like it was a rattler, Clint reached out and grasped it in a very firm handshake.

  Lacy forgot everything.

  “Matlock.”

  Busy assimilating the reaction to his touch, Lacy didn’t understand the question. “W-what?” Her gaze dropped to their clasped hands, then back to his face.

  His eyebrow lifted, his fierce dark eyes shifted dangerously. “My name,” he almost growled before dropping her hand like a red-hot branding iron.

  Lacy rocked back on her heels. Goodness, where had all the air gone?

  “Matlock Clint—I mean Clint Matlock, it’s nice to m-meet you,” she stammered. Wrapping her hands around her waist she lifted her shoulders, trying to act as if she had not just been poleaxed by his touch. “Now—” she cleared her throat “—do you have insurance?”

  “Do I have insurance?” he asked, dropping his jaw. “What would I need insurance for?”

  “Why, to pay for the damage to my Caddy.”

  A hoot of laughter rang out in the crowd Lacy had forgotten. Sheriff Brady chuckled. Clint glared at him, then peered down at Lacy.

  Regaining her bravado, she smiled again making sure her dimples showed. “Since we’re practically neighbors and all, I figured if you don’t have insurance—I mean anyone who would drive a dusty old black Jeep—” She couldn’t help teasing him. It covered up her nerves. She wagged her finger and clucked her tongue. “Well, you know how those sorts of people are…anyway, I’m certain we can come to an agreement if we just get creative. Besides, we don’t want Sheriff Brady having to cuff us and throw us both into jail. Now do we?”

  He stared at her, slack-jawed. It was a look Lacy had seen often on people she spoke to. A pin, or was it a needle, dropping into a haystack within a mile radius could have been heard. She waited patiently, enjoying that he was actually taking her seriously.

  After a moment, a very long moment, he pulled his hat off his head, dropped his chin to his chest and studied his scuffed boots. Methodically, he slapped his Stetson against his thigh. His thick sandy hair fluttered in the humid breeze.

  Lacy studied that mass of hair and waited. She knew she should come clean and confess that she’d only been joking. But he was so cute believing her. She was about to own up to her teasing just as Clint’s shoulders shifted upward and a deep throaty laugh escaped him.

  Lacy could only stare as Clint lifted his chin off his chest just high enough to cock his head to one side and slant those fabulous eyes her way.

  “Are you here to catch a husband?” he asked softly.

  “No!” She slapped a hand of denial over her heart so hard she choked. “No, I’m here to help everyone else find husbands.”

  He lifted his chin higher. He had a lean, square chin. A nice chin.

  “And just how are you going to do that?”

  “I’m going to style their hair.”

  “Their hair?” His lips slashed into a quizzical smile. “And that’s going to make them fall in love?”

  “Oh, yes. Love is in the hair…” she sang to the tune of the old Love Boat theme. Chortles and more hoots rippled through the crowd.

  Clint rolled his eyes and strode to his injured Jeep.

  “Clint,” Brady called, watching him climb into the wreck. “What do you want me to do? She is new in town.”

  Clint slammed his hat back on his head before cranking his engine; grudgingly it coughed to life. “Let her go, Brady. I’ve got rustlers to catch, and if I stand here much longer, trying to figure out little Miss Lacy Brown, I’m afraid I’ll get back to the ranch and my entire herd will be gone.”

  “If that’s what you want,” Brady said.

  Lacy took a step toward the Jeep. Clint dropped the gear into reverse and rammed it into drive. Then settling his hat more snugly on his forehead, he guided the clanking heap in a sad lurching arch northward.

  Watching him go, a dangerous sense of anticipation rippled through Lacy.

  She did not li
ke the feeling one bit.

  Chapter Two

  Standing on the side of the road, Clint peered at his Jeep’s radiator. Steam boiled from it, tangling with the smoke curling from the engine. In his haste to get out of Dodge and away from Lacy Brown, he’d just driven off.

  That walking tornado had wiped out his good sense. That would explain how he hadn’t given a thought to the damage to his vehicle or that it might not make the ten-mile trip back to the ranch. Now, stranded on the side of the road, he had to be content to wait for a ride or walk the last four miles home. He still needed a cup of coffee, but it looked like today wasn’t his day for one, or anything else.

  He owned a cell phone, but little good that did him out here in the bowels of Texas without reception. It was the luck of the day that this long stretch between Mule Hollow and the ranch was the deader than dead zone.

  Outsmarted by a bunch of cattle thieves, then accosted by Lacy Brown, now this—what a combination. Of course, to be fair, he owed Ms. Brown an apology. It was his fault that he’d hit her car. No excuses, all that grief he’d given her about her insurance had been wrong. He shouldn’t have carried it so far.

  Clint couldn’t help thinking that if she was what that advertisement Norma Sue and the ladies put out was bringing to town—Mule Hollow was in worse trouble than before the oil wells had dried up.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he walked to the center of the deserted farm-to-market road and stood there, boots planted on both sides of the yellow line. “Nothin’ coming down this road anytime soon,” he said to the birds gliding high in the blue sky above him.

  His ranch and just a few other homes were all that were out this direction from town. This bit of road was as dead as town.

  He started walking.

  He hated what had happened to the town he’d grown up in. Like all the folks with roots dating back two and three generations, watching the town die had been a hard thing to stomach. Especially when he remembered what a pretty little place it had been before the oil boom busted in the late seventies. He’d only been a kid, but he remembered all the oil rigs that had once dotted the pastures along this countryside. When the wells dried up, the roughnecks took their families and moved on to find work somewhere else. Their departure left Mule Hollow just that—hollow.