Dream a Little Dream (12 page)

She faltered when she saw the little white pill lying on the counter beside the bottle.

Exactly where she'd placed it last night.

She couldn't have? That poor man! She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down.

It didn't work. Snatching up the pill and the glass of water, she hurried to Bob's room—and met him as he came around the corner.

She nearly tripped over her feet when she saw him. He was clutching his middle, supporting his ribs with one hand and gripping the door with the other hand.

How could she have forgotten to give him his painkiller!

“Good morning,” he said. Despite the perspiration beaded across his forehead, he was smiling.

“Why didn't you call me?” she snapped. “I can not believe I left you stranded and didn't give you your medication. And what in the world are you doing up?” She was scolding him. The poor man was in a world of hurt and she was griping him out! “I am so sorry, here let me help you,” she said, grasping what dignity she had left. She set the water and medicine on the table and moved to his side. Ignoring the silly grin on his lips, she slipped her arm around his waist.

“Molly, relax,” he chuckled.

Chuckled!

“I don't normally take that heavy a painkiller anyway. I'm fine. I'm up.”

“Barely,” she snapped, and immediately felt like a toad. But he was chuckling. And in pain. And she was so frustrated. “I am so sorry,” she managed. “For everything. C'mon. We'll get you to the couch and then you can take the medicine and feel better.”

“Nope. Take me to the kitchen and the stool.”

“But—”

“No buts. I'm not taking any more painkillers and I'm not getting back on that couch. I'm ready to start moving around a little.”

They took a step together and she heard his sharp intake of air. “You need something.”

“No I don't. Kitchen please.” His eyes were crinkled around the edges, but he wasn't chuckling anymore and she knew it was taking everything he had to stand up.

His arm tightened around her shoulders and she
nodded. “Okay, lean on me.” They made slow progress, but they made it at last.

John Boy came scampering across the hardwood, lost his grip and slid into Bob's bare foot. They were almost to the bar stool. “Hey, little fella, I'd pet you but I can't bend over.”

“He missed you terribly last night,” she said, wanting to do something more for him. But what? She looked up at him and met his gaze straight on.

“You didn't get any sleep, did you?” he asked.

Frozen and certain she was as pink as Lacy's hot-pink salon, Molly shook her head. And despite everything, he smiled, letting those dimples play havoc with her mind.

Focus, Molly! Focus
.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded her head, though nothing was okay. “Fine,” she managed. “Just lost my breath for a minute.”

He leaned his head down so his lips were close to her ear. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

B
ob knew about calming skittish colts. He knew about calming skittish cattle. But he didn't know what to do for a skittish female.

Sitting at the kitchen island on a tall stool, he watched Molly prepare to change his bandages. Her fingers were shaking. He hadn't thought how upset forgetting to give him his medicine would make her.

“Molly, please relax. Believe it or not, sitting up high on this bar stool is a good thing. At least I can get myself up and down without hurting too much, so stop feeling guilty—especially if that's what's got you so worked up.” He rubbed John Boy's back with the toe of his foot and smiled when the fat puppy rolled over, clawing at his toe with his paws. When Mr. Feisty suddenly took a bite of his toe, Bob yelped.

Molly's lips curved into a smile. “You have to watch out for him.” She tore open a package of fresh gauze and her shoulders relaxed.

“I'm learning as I go,” he said, realizing it was true with both John Boy
and
Molly. He watched her walk toward him, and he almost smiled thinking about how she'd scolded him earlier. She was cute when she was frustrated.

“You know there is no way you can sit there all afternoon,” she said. “The doctor said you need to take the pain medicine. You're going to have to get some sleep sometime. Rest helps a body heal.” Her finely sculptured lips flattened into a straight line crinkling just a tinge at the edges and her eyes melted with concern.

She was back to herself and distractingly convincing with her argument.

“Molly, getting up from that bed was what had me hurting so bad earlier. I promise. But later, after I've moved around a little bit more, if I decide to get back on the couch to rest, I'll take some medicine, if that'll make you feel better.”

“That'll make us both feel better,” she said, peeling the paper away from the gauze and moving behind him. He could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin as she concentrated on changing his bandages. She smelled of fresh air and a warm sunlit morning. It was nice. It was habit-forming.

Now he was the one feeling skittish.

He was treading in dangerous waters.

But he'd put his sane mind on later. Right now he was hurting too bad to force sanity into the mix. Despite his pain, he'd decided not to take any more painkillers.

Feeling her long, graceful fingers tending his bandages, he closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the
moment. Her touch and the knowledge that she was in his home was all he needed at the moment. It was nice having someone take care of him. He'd realized last night while he lay awake thinking about her that the last thing he wanted to do while she was here was sleep.

Yep, he was a messed-up cookie, because he didn't want to miss a single moment of Molly's company. This attraction was a doomed state of affairs, but he'd think about that when the time came.

Now he just wanted to get to know her better.

“So what would you like for breakfast?”

Her question surprised him. He glanced over his shoulder at her. She smiled then concentrated again on her task.

“I can cook some scrambled eggs. I'm not any good with fried ones, but scrambled I'm okay with. They're more forgiving.”

“I thought you said you couldn't cook?”

She laughed, causing her fingers to tremble as she smoothed the bandage in place. Her laugh was a quiet sound, like a whisper that came out slightly too loud. He'd always admired it. Molly's laugh was one of those still, quiet sounds that lingered and made a guy want to do something in hopes of getting to hear it again. Yeah, he could listen to Molly laugh all day.

“I didn't say I couldn't cook. I said I couldn't cook well.”

“Then throw some eggs in that skillet and let me see what you've got.”

That got him another laugh. She pulled his shirt down then walked to the fridge. When she turned around, she
held a carton of eggs and a jug of milk. “You eat breakfast at Sam's, don't you?”

“Every morning. Until lately.” Now why had he said that? She paused and looked at him with troubled eyes.

“Sorry about that.”

“Look Molly, I didn't mean anything by that. Stop saying you're sorry. It's driving me mad.”

The tension that had ebbed was back. “How can I not say I'm sorry? Look at you, Bob. You almost died out there and it's my fault. If you had been killed by that bull, it would have been totally my fault. Don't you see that? How can I not feel sorry?” She was looking at him with pleading eyes.

“Molly, do you want me to say I forgive you? Would that make you feel better? Because I do. I forgive you.”

She blinked, then set the eggs on the counter and stood there in silent silhouette. He watched her blinking hard and thought it best not to say anything, to let her get control of her emotions. After a couple of minutes she sniffed, looked sideways at him with misted eyes. Big, beautiful, green eyes…sincere eyes.

“Thank you.”

He nodded. He had to admit he could get used to having her in his home. In his life. He wondered what she thought about his home? Compared to hers. He wondered if she ever thought about buying a picture for her wall. If she ever thought about settling down.

He wondered why he was wondering.

 

“Do what?” Molly was standing at the sink rinsing out the coffee cups when she thought she heard him say
he wanted to check on his cows. She spun around. “Check on your cows!” Molly was dumbfounded. They had shared a quick breakfast, talking about ranch life, something she knew very little about but was finding very interesting. “Bob, how are you going to check on your cows? Clint and Brady and the entire cowboy population of Mule Hollow are feeding your animals for you, so there is no need to worry about the cows. You said yourself that the truck ride here was tough.”

He just laughed. “Molly—” He grimaced with pain. “That was not a good move. One thing about a man and his cows is it does a cowboy's heart good to see the hairy beasts every day. Don't ask me why, it's just a fact. I know there's no way I can tend them, but I can look at them. With your help that is.”

Molly walked over and picked up the plates and carried them to the sink. How could she refuse an offer like that? She didn't see how it was going to happen, but if he thought he could do it then who was she to say no? Now she understood why he'd asked her earlier to help put his cowboy boot on.

“Okay. What do you want me to do?” She turned and caught him smiling at her. Her heart skipped a beat and she saw headlines—which she immediately backspaced over before she got the chance to read them.

“First, you can go and grab the set of binoculars off the desk in my office. I'd go get them myself, but it'd be tomorrow before we got to see the cows.”

“Binoculars. This is sounding very interesting. You better go ahead and get started toward the back door. Me
and the binoculars will catch up with you,” she said drily, already heading to his office at the front of the house.

His laugh followed her out of the room and her stomach did a little dip—which she ignored. She had finally gotten hold of her senses and it was going to stay that way.

When she returned with the binoculars, he was standing beside the back door smiling as if he'd just climbed Mount Everest.

“Look at you! You made good time.” She knew it had probably killed him getting to the door, but there were no beads of sweat on his brow, so that said something.

“I flew like the wind,” he teased.

“Oh did you? What now?”

“Open the door and give me a lift, sweetheart.”

“Okay, sugar baby,” she said with a snort. The man was full of it. Opening the door, she slipped her arm around his waist again and waited as he carefully placed his good arm across her shoulders. His fingers brushed her cheek as he did so and their warmth sent a ripple of wonder through her.

Oh no, you don't, she thought, and promptly pushed the wondering away. Wondering would get a girl in trouble.

 

Bob reached the tree. He'd about killed himself doing it. His reasons for wanting to look at his cattle bothered him. He knew Clint was making certain his cattle were being well taken care of. Clint Matlock was the best cattleman around. So why was Bob nearly killing himself to get to the top of the ridge where he could catch a glimpse of a few of his herd?

Because it gave him an excuse to put his aching arm around Molly.

It wasn't as if he went around figuring out ways to put his arms around a woman. If truth be told, he hadn't actually held a woman in a very long time. He'd been too busy working and saving his money to buy this place. But that still didn't explain why he couldn't resist torturing himself by holding a woman close who had made no secret that she didn't want a family.

Looking down at the top of her chestnut head, he swallowed and took one more giant leap toward insanity by wondering what her hair felt like. It was thick. Thick and shiny, and the rich color reminded him of the coat of a chestnut mare with the sunlight glinting off it. And it smelled like flowers. Not like the overpowering scents on the envelopes in his dining room, but more like an essence of flowers. Just enough to make him want to lean down and inhale a little deeper.

They'd made it to the tree in time to save him from making a complete fool of himself. Shaken by the ideas churning in his ailing brain, he quickly grabbed the low limb for support and willed her to move as far away from him as possible. Which she did quicker than he'd expected, almost as if she could read his mind. She didn't just move away, it was more like she ran.

She took five quick steps, hugged her right arm around her middle and toyed with the chain at her neck with the other.

She didn't look at him, which was a good thing. Right. Then why was he watching her, waiting to catch her gaze
sliding to his? Hoping to see some glimmer of the same infatuation for him that he found himself feeling for her?

It didn't happen. Like a statue she stood, back ramrod stiff, and watched his cattle in the distance. He, on the other hand, knew what they looked like.

“So there they are,” she said, letting go of her charm to wave a graceful hand toward the animals.

“There they are.” He continued to study her.

She turned toward him and caught him. She tilted her head slightly and crossed a long jean-clad leg at the ankles. It made her appear even more lanky than she was.

His stomach clenched and he took a deep breath and tried to picture her in Europe somewhere, with a pencil tucked behind her ear as she interviewed some war-ravaged—he couldn't even think the words much less picture it. She was too young. Too fragile. Too…he couldn't think about it. Nothing about the situation seemed right to him.

“I saw the pictures in your office of you as a bullfighter. It amazed me. That one where the photographer caught you doing a somersault in the air over the bull— I guess he'd thrown you?”

“Yeah. I was actually taking the hit for the bull rider and it sent me flying.” He was glad to have something to talk about. Less thinking time.

“Did that one hurt you?”

“Not that one.”

“And that other one, the one where you were diving across the bull's back? That photo was remarkable.”

“The rider was hung up. I was trying to get at the rope to free his hand.”

“You took a lot of chances.”

He shrugged and then wished he hadn't when the pain shot through him. “I was quick, well trained. It was a calculated risk.”

She frowned. “Hey, buddy. You're talking to a reporter. I do my homework on my subject matter. I saw the articles. The injury rate. The deaths.”

“Absent from the body, present with the Lord. Every job has its dangers. And I have an insurance policy that's a one-way ticket to heaven. So what's there to be afraid of?”

She smiled. “True. So then why did you quit?”

He leaned against the old oak tree and studied the distance. “It was time.”

“How did you know?” She tilted her head and the crease between her eyebrows deepened. “Really. What caused you to know?”

He studied her inquisitive expression. “You're just full of questions. Is all of this off-the-record?”

She blushed again. “Everything about you is officially classified information from this moment on.” She held up her right hand and smiled solemnly.

He leaned carefully against the tree, taking some more weight off his bad leg. “There were several things, actually. First, I'd always dreamed of having a family, but I had too much junk inside me to think it was something I could ever really have. I was an angry kid.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Really? I would never in a million years have pictured you as angry. I mean other than getting angry at what I did to you, you've always been so cool and collected. How old were you?”

She appeared keenly interested in what he had to say. It was obvious why people opened up to her. “Nineteen when I started. I actually started out on a bull.”

“Riding a bull?”

“Don't look so horrified. I never got hurt on top of a bull. Anyway, I was sitting on the fence after my ride, watching a buddy, and his hand got hung up. He was being dragged and tossed around like a dishrag and the bullfighters weren't having any luck getting his hand loose. I was afraid for him, so I jumped into the fray, grabbed onto the rope and freed him. It felt natural, and after that I never went back on a bull. I realized I liked staring the bull down from the ground. Saving lives can be addictive.”

“And second?”

Always the reporter, she guided him back for the rest of the story. “I met the Lord. And surrendered my life to Him and suddenly I started thinking about settling down. About the family I'd dreamed of as a kid. There are some great Christian bullfighters out there, with families and the whole big witness for the Lord going on. But bullfighters are on the road constantly. I wanted a family and a life with them. Not just a life supporting them.” He paused to look around his ranch. “And I wanted this. I still have a lot to do, but it's coming together.”