The Trouble With Lacy Brown

by Debra Clopton

  Her feet barely touched the pavement, and Lacy felt like laughing. She’d read love stories, knew about significant moments when the hero and heroine shared their feelings through eye contact. And she knew she wasn’t supposed to laugh.

  But this isn’t a love story. “You’re asking me if I can manage? Me. Klutzola. To be honest, I’m not sure what I can do anymore. Maybe barefooted, I can manage to walk the rest of the way without falling.”

  “And maybe you can’t,” he said, and swept her back into his arms and started walking. “I should never have risked you walking across that bridge.”

  “Clint, put me down,” she sputtered. “I can walk.”

  He didn’t stop.

  She didn’t want him to carry her. She wanted to walk on her own feet. If she weren’t careful, she’d forget all about her mission and fall flat out in love with the guy.

  Talk, the talk Clint had so sweetly wanted to protect her from, spread like ice melting near an open flame. By the time Lacy woke the next morning, Norma Sue, Esther Mae and Adela were waiting on her doorstep.

  The first thing Lacy saw when she answered the door was Esther Mae’s triple-decker doing a shimmy as she shook her head vigorously to something Norma Sue had just said. All three of them clammed up, staring innocently at Lacy the minute she opened the door. Something was up.

  “Come in and give me the scoop. What’s on the grapevine this morning?” Standing aside, she let the ladies scurry into the living room.

  “What scoop?” Norma Sue asked innocently.

  Lacy perched on the edge of her flowered couch. Her neon yellow nightshirt blended well with the fluorescent kaleidoscope of colors in the couch’s print. “Now, Norma Sue, I know you don’t know me very well. Yet, I would hope you realize that I give my opinion and thoughts straight out. I expect the same in return. Now, what’s on your minds?”

  “Is what Norma Sue says true?” Adela asked.

  “Yeah. Did you spend the night with Clint?”

  The question startled Lacy, even though she’d half expected it. Their expressions told exactly what they were thinking. Shame on them.

  “Oh, come on, girls,” Lacy said. “Of course not. My car ran out of gas then the storm blew in and drenched me. Clint kind of rescued me.”

  “Kind of?” Esther Mae asked. Crestfallen, she looked at Adela then Norma Sue. Even her hair seemed to droop. “How do you kind of rescue someone?”

  Lacy related her story—omitting the kissing. She wasn’t not giving the story to them straight, she simply didn’t believe certain parts of the evening were everybody’s business. Since there were parts of last night that she didn’t understand herself, she had no great desire to pass the confusing and private details down the grapevine.

  “Well, what happened after y’all made it to his house?” Norma Sue asked.

  “He brought me home, then he went home.” Again, Lacy didn’t think the ladies needed to know how strained the ride home had been.

  And they certainly didn’t need to know just how disappointed she’d been when he’d turned away and driven off without following through with another kiss.

  Just a few short hours after dropping Lacy off at her house, Clint was sitting at his desk whistling as he thumbed through a week’s worth of unopened mail. Between rustlers and Lacy Brown, opening mail had been the last thing on his mind. But it had to be done, and after last night’s unbelievable events, sitting down at his desk for mail call held even less appeal.

  Lacy Brown intrigued him. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t just a flighty, looking-for-fun gal. She really did seem to have real substance. No matter what he told himself, she seemed to be the total package.

  Seemed being the pivotal word.

  He tapped the corner of the envelope on his desktop and wrangled with the desire to forget the pain in his past. Right now all he wanted to do was haul his carcass into town and hold Lacy again.

  Even if it went against every good brain cell he had in his head.

  Absentmindedly, he glanced down at the letter in his hand. He’d been sorting the many envelopes into piles, as he had to get some work done. Skimming over the return address, he was ready to deposit it into its appropriate stack of bills, personal or ranch correspondence, when the name on the upper left-hand corner jumped out at him. Clint’s world tilted as he forced himself to focus on the name in neat script: Amber Matlock. His mother’s name stared back at him. She’d used her name as it had been all those years ago, when she’d still been his mother, when she’d still had the right to carry his father’s last name. White-hot anger flashed through Clint; she had no right to the Matlock name now, not after the shame she’d brought to it. He dropped the letter, scraped his chair back and away, glaring at the plain white envelope. His heart pounded, and there was a surge in his blood pressure that the three feet between him and the letter did nothing to ease.

  How many times as a kid had he wished to see his mother’s name on an envelope addressed to him? How many times had he prayed she’d come home?

  Rocked to his core, he reached out, picked up the envelope and slowly turned it over in his palm. He was a grown man, and yet he felt transported back in time to that same hurting kid he’d been when his mother had chosen someone else over him. No goodbye, no word…ever. Until now. His gut ached; emotions he’d fought hard to suppress slammed into him in hard waves.

  After years of wondering, years of wishing… His hand trembled with weakness as another wave hit him. What did she want? Was she all right? Fighting back the betraying curiosity, the longing he’d thought he’d overcome, he slowly, very slowly pulled open his desk drawer, dropped the letter inside and slammed it shut with a definite thud.

  The silence that echoed through the room held unasked questions. Questions he did not care to give voice to. His mother had torn his childish heart to shreds when she’d left him.

  Because of that he’d stopped wishing for anything that had to do with Amber Matlock a long time ago.

  And that was how it would remain.

  Chapter Nine

  Lacy had been working hard in the salon for three days since Clint rescued her from the flash flood. Thanks to his ranch hands, the painting had been done in record time and the windows had been washed and shined. J.P. had helped Sheri hang the light fixtures straight, then Lacy had whitewashed the beat up wood floor. The ragged building now looked like a new place. It had a welcoming ambiance that pleased Lacy. All it needed was a bit of wallpaper, a couple of shampoo bowls hooked up and a mirror hung, and they would be ready for business.

  Though he had sent his cowhands to help, Clint hadn’t come back into town since that stormy night. It had probably been for the best, because she hadn’t been able to get him off her mind. There were quite a few things about that night that she couldn’t forget. The kiss, the way he’d held her, the way she’d felt when he’d held her. But the way she’d felt when he’d reached into that surging water and pulled her from danger was the kicker. Everything in her perspective had shifted after that experience. She’d already had trouble getting the picture of him standing in the center of the road the day of their first meeting out of her head, his chin tucked to his chest, his head cocked so that his dark gaze angled upward at her as he asked if she was looking for a husband. Now, that question replayed in her mind like a chant.

  She had been in Mule Hollow just shy of two weeks and already her thoughts were straying from her mission. It really bothered her that she could be so fickle. She so wanted to stay the course.

  Today, as she spread paste on an eight-foot length of wallpaper, her thoughts were churning. She was relieved when the salon door opened behind her.

  “Yoo-hoo, Lacy.”

  “Adela,” she called over her shoulder, recognizing the singsong voice. “How’s it going?”

  “Wonderful. Just wonderful. How lovely it looks in here.”

  “You think so?” Paper up, Lacy stepped back, pl
opped her hands on her hips and admired her handiwork. “I’ve never hung paper before so I was excited to try something new. It’s easier than I expected.”

  “You have the knack.”

  “I wouldn’t say that—-but it has been fairly easy.”

  “Have you done it all yourself?”

  “Oh no, no, no. Sheri has helped big-time—she’s just gone over to Pete’s for more paste. I bought this paper before I left Dallas, and I didn’t think about paste. Thank goodness Pete had some, but I think it had been there for a while. I hope it’s still good.” She spread paste on the next sheet of paper then folded it together, like the instructions said.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. It looks as if it’s sticking.” Adela ran a hand over the soft pink and white striped paper and nodded.

  “What’s up?” Lacy picked up the new length of paper and maneuvered her way to the wall.

  Adela followed her. “I came to tell you that the apartments are in complete upheaval right now, but the contractor assures me that a couple of them will be ready in time for the fair. The electricians are there now, running wire for the small kitchens, and the contractors have started cutting out openings between rooms that will connect into living and dining spaces. It is amazing what can happen in a matter of days when people are motivated.”

  “You must have done some mighty powerful motivating.” Lacy paused and smiled at Adela. Adela might have been small and serene looking, but behind that exterior, there was a very aggressive go-getter.

  “I have a few connections in Ranger, great friends of the family, and they were glad to help out, especially when they’d had another job fall through and needed to keep their men working. God has a way of clearing agendas when the time is right.”

  “So true, Adela.”

  “Lacy, I also came to tell you that we had a call a few minutes ago from a young woman who is coming out from Hollywood to see about opening a dress store. Hollywood. Can you imagine?”

  Lacy spun toward Adela. “You mean to tell me you didn’t come barging in here screaming with excitement about this? You amaze me, Adela! Does anything ruffle your feathers?”

  Adela’s eyes twinkled. “My feathers are ruffled. I’m extremely excited.”

  Lacy laughed. “Yeah, I can tell.”

  “I explained to her that at the moment a dress store might be a bit out of the question.” Adela’s eyes sparkled more brightly. “However we eventually expected to have a large demand for just that kind of shop.”

  “And,” Lacy prompted when Adela frowned.

  “She assured me that she expected a slow beginning. She said part of her business is done on the Internet and it really didn’t matter if the foot traffic was slow in town for a little while.”

  “Excellent. When is she arriving?”

  “In two weeks, just in time for the fair. I explained it would be the event of the summer and she would want to attend before going back to the city and making her decision.”

  “Adela, you are too cool,” Lacy said, returning to work. The paste had set on the panel she was working on and it was time to spread the paper on the wall.

  “Yes, well, thank you. Are you sure you don’t need help?”

  “I’m positive.”

  “Then I’ll see you later. I’m off to see Pete about donating supplies to decorate the street. Oh, by the way, I thought the vacant building beside you would be the perfect spot for the dress shop.”

  “I agree,” Lacy called over her shoulder, unable to spare a glance as she started working.

  “Tootles, dear.”

  “Tootles to you, too,” Lacy said absently as she smoothed the paper, concentrating on getting all the lines straight. When she finished, she backed away and surveyed her work. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

  The door opened behind her.

  “What do you think, Sheri? With the other paper up, this is going to look great.”

  “If you like pink.”

  Lacy swung around to find Clint Matlock frowning at the wall. She was shocked at the rush of joy that flowed over her. Shocked and dismayed at the same time.

  “You don’t like pink?” She willed her heart to slow down and her mouth to smother the smile that was trying to erupt from it.

  “Nope. Can’t say that I do, but it’s obvious we disagree on the subject.” He looped his thumb though the belt loop of his right hip. “Is everything you touch going to be pink?”

  Lacy couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled out of her. “Not everything. I like pink because it’s a happy color.”

  “Not always.” Clint lifted his hat from his head and slowly lowered his chin so that the top of his head was exposed. “Like I said the other night, it’s not my color.”

  Lacy gasped. “Clint, you have pink hair!”

  “As if I didn’t know that,” he said dryly. “And it doesn’t make me happy.”

  Lacy hurried over to stare at his hair. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this the night of the storm. But, now that I think about it, you never once removed your hat. As a matter of fact, I remember you yanking on it all night to keep it in place.”

  “You better believe it. Since this has happened, I’ve worn my hat everywhere except to bed. Do you know what kind of teasing I’d get if word got out that I have pink hair?”

  Lacy laughed. “Oh, my, the world as we know it would end.”

  Clint relaxed against the door frame. “The question is, can you help me?”

  Lacy reached up and touched the stiff patch of hair. Like the crown of a rooster’s head it was a three by two section of hair sitting smack on the top of his head. It was quite cute. “You know you could just leave it and start a new trend.” Clint lowered his chin and gave her that look she’d come to adore. “Okay, maybe not.”

  “I tried everything I thought was safe. I’ve showered more times than I can count. Been through a rainstorm—”

  “That doesn’t count,” Lacy broke in. “You kept the hat on, remember.” Giving into the notion, she gave the swatch of hair a gentle tug.

  “Hey! Watch out.”

  Lacy laughed and turned away to move toward the shampoo bowl that was leaning against the back wall.

  Clint followed. “I’m getting desperate enough to pour gasoline over my head. Tomorrow is Sunday and I don’t usually wear my hat during services.”

  “I’ll get it out for you.” She was glad to do something for him. He had, after all, saved her from uncertain disaster. “All I need is my shampoo bowls hooked up and we’re in business.”

  Clint eyed the equipment. “I’m handy with a wrench. I’ll install the bowls if you guarantee you can make me look normal again.”

  Placing her hand on her heart she said somberly, “I promise.”

  “It’s a done deal. I’ll go out to my truck and get some tools, then we’ll get started.”

  After carefully placing his Stetson back on his head and giving it a secure tug, Clint strode from the salon. Lacy watched him go, fighting laughter and the strong urge to run up behind him on the street and tip the hat off his head.

  Oh, Lacy, you do have a mean streak in you.

  “What’s Clint up to?” Sheri asked as she came in, empty-handed.

  “He’s going to install my shampoo bowls.”

  “He’s going to help you install shampoo bowls! You who crashed his Jeep, made him run his truck into a ditch, had him trudging all over his pastures in the middle of a flash flood.” Her eyes were wide in disbelief.

  “Yes. He’s being neighborly.”

  “Yeah, right,” Sheri snapped. “The man is interested, Lace.” She thumped a fake cigar in punctuation and wiggled her eyebrows.

  “Well, Groucho, I’m not.” Lacy stuffed some unused wallpaper into the trash bin and ignored the kick her heart gave her ribs.

  “Whatever you say, girlfriend, but I think you’re crazy as a Betsy bug. Look, Pete has no more paste, so I thought I’d ride to Ranger and pick up some new paste.”

 
; “Now? Ranger is sixty miles away.”

  Sheri tucked her hands into her back pockets. “I know.”

  “Then what’s up?”

  “J.P. has a load of cattle to deliver to the auction barn and wanted to know if I’d ride along.”

  Lacy stared at her friend. “This is getting to be a pretty heavy thing between you two.”

  “Not too heavy. I’m holding up just fine.”

  “Sher—”

  “Lace, stop. I’m not the one with the hang-up about men. J.P. is a very nice guy. He’s fun. And, girl, can he kiss.”

  “Sheri, this is serious.”

  “Yes, it is, Lacy. You need to lighten up. That’s serious. Now, while I’m gone, instead of worrying over me, why don’t you worry about that handsome man who’s going to be working beside you for the next hour?” Sheri backed out the door, grinning. “This is a good thing, Lacy. Remember that. A good thing. You didn’t like me standing on the sidelines growing up. Well, I don’t like you standing there, either. It isn’t right. So loosen up and make a new friend.”

  Lacy watched her jog down the road to where J.P. leaned against the side of his truck. He had one leg braced against the metal fender and he looked happy watching Sheri jog up to meet him. When she came to a halt before him he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and escorted her to the truck, where he opened the door and helped her climb into the cab. A twinge of envy at their carefree attitude swept through Lacy. She turned away, shutting the emotion down. She wasn’t ready yet to trust her heart to a man. Not that easily. Not that carefree. Still she envied her friend her ability to do so.

  “Okay, that should do it,” Clint said about an hour later. Dusting his hands off on his jeans he stood and put his wrench in his back pocket.