Dream a Little Dream (5 page)

Until now.

Until she'd been given the order to halt all tales of Bob.

She hadn't completely realized exactly how much her column about Mule Hollow had truly revolved around him.

Why was that?

This morning, after not sleeping most of the night, she had sat on the floor in the middle of her apartment surrounded by weeks and months of copies of her column. And lo and behold, to her surprise, the maddening man had been right.

Completely, unexplainably right.

He
had
been in the papers more than the President!

M
onday morning came and Molly remained distracted and disgruntled, still drawing blanks. Even at church the day before she'd been in a fog, unable to focus on the service. Especially when there was a noticeable vacant spot in the choir where Bob usually sang. The man had a voice like Tim McGraw and he used it for the Lord. Wow! Just one more big check mark for why he was such a great guy. But it still didn't explain why he'd appeared in her articles so much. There was, after all, an entire town full of great guys sitting in the church sanctuary. True their voices weren't as good as Bob's, but they were nice guys looking for love. So why hadn't she plastered their names all over her articles as much as she'd plastered Bob's?

Still boggled in the brain and running late on her routine, she crossed the street and walked over to the tiny Mule Hollow convention center to see if she needed to lend a hand before finding somewhere to settle and
try to write. The center was really two older buildings on Main Street that the town had renovated into one large space. By city standards it was nothing more than a big room. For Mule Hollow, it was a convention center. Today they were decorating for Dottie Hart and Sheriff Brady's bridal shower on Friday. The wedding was less than two weeks away, and as far as the two of them were concerned, that was two weeks too long.

An inspiring story, Molly was pleased to have had a hand in the match. It was her articles that basically inspired Cassie to start hitchhiking her way to Mule Hollow, which led Dottie to give her a lift, which brought both of them to town. Dottie had met Sheriff Brady and the rest was history. The only bad part for Molly was that Cassie had followed Bob around.
Followed,
not
stalked
as Bob had called it. And though things hadn't worked out between them, Bob had befriended the young girl and now there were no hard feelings. At least not between Bob and Cassie. Obviously, the same didn't go for her and Bob.

Still, she didn't quite get it. He was happy for Brady and Dottie, he was friends with Cassie. But he was angry with her for writing the articles that were responsible for the wonderfully romantic web that God had used to get them all together.

True she'd gone overboard expounding on Bob's worthiness as a potential husband, but she'd done a good thing for everyone else.

She was sorry she'd given him more fame than he wanted. But he would live. And maybe God would use it for good. If she focused on the positive aspects of what
she'd done, then maybe she could get past this momentary stumble her creative mind was going through.

Taking time out this morning from her usual routine to help decorate for the shower would be a good way to relieve the stress that was blocking her flow. It could also provide fodder for the story she would write about the upcoming wedding. Readers were eating up the happily-ever-after wedding stories.

“Molly,” Lacy sang from her perch on the top of a twelve-foot ladder. “Just the woman I need. Sheri just jogged over and told me I have a walk-in waiting on me for a color repair. Can you finish tacking these streamers up? As soon as I fix whatever this woman has done to her hair I'll be back. Although Sheri said this was a job for a magician not a beautician so it may take a while.”

“And who says you aren't a magician?” Esther Mae called out from her chair in the center of the room.

“Yeah,” added Norma Sue with a snort. “Anybody who saw Esther Mae's red triple decker before you got a hold of her would know you've got some great tricks up those sleeves of yours.”

Esther Mae harrumphed and Norma Sue gave her an innocent look. “Hey, I'm still waiting for it to go poof and turn back into the pumpkin that it was.”

Lacy laughed and climbed down off the ladder. Spinning around toward the two older friends, she plopped her hands on her hips. “You two better straighten up and be nice to each other or I might just have to get my razor hold of y'all.”

“Hey,” Esther Mae snapped, her eyes growing wide. “How do you think I would look with one of those
spunky short cuts? You know where my hair sticks up on top of my head—”

“Lacy,” Norma Sue broke in. “Don't listen to her. Mule Hollow doesn't need to give the wrong impression.”

“And just what does that mean?” Esther Mae gasped indignantly.

Norma Sue dropped her jaw. “You'd look like a redheaded troll! That's what.”

Esther Mae blew out a short breath. “Pooh. I would be spunky and cute. Just like my personality.”

Lacy shot a wink Molly's way. “You are right about the personality, Esther dear. But I think maybe we'd have to have a serious consult before I punked out your hair. Okay, I gotta go.”

Molly watched Lacy jog toward the door, chuckling.

“What do I need to do?” she called after her, not at all sure about attempting decorating without a whole lot of instruction.

“Oh!” Lacy spun at the door. “As Esther Mae and Norma Sue get those decorations done, all you have to do is string them like I did these.” She pointed to the ceiling where she'd been draping the lights and ribbons Norma Sue and Esther Mae were braiding together. “Don't look so doubtful, Molly. You can do this. The ties are on top of the ladder. As soon as I can, I'll be back. If I'm not back before you get finished, you'll know either I've got a really, really bad disaster on my hands or I'm getting to tell whomever is over there waiting on me about the Lord!”

She grinned, her eyes sparking with excitement. Everyone knew that witnessing for the Lord was the
reason Lacy woke up every day. Molly had experienced it firsthand in the middle of a highlight.

Taking in Lacy's beautiful work, Molly realized there was no way her streamers were going to remotely resemble the artfully draping decorations her friend had strung. Every dip was perfectly matched, no bulges, no kinks. Molly plastered on a smile and thought positive. “Sure, I can handle this, Lacy. You go do that thing you do.”

“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 entertaining. 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!