The Trouble With Lacy Brown

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Authors: Debra Clopton
Tags: Romance, Debra Clopton
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down or what?” Clint drawled, stepping toward the ladder.
    “Don’t you dare touch my ladder again. I’m coming down.” Thrusting out her chin, she stalked to the ladder. There was no sense letting him know how much she appreciated his coming to her rescue. Or how much she needed rescuing.
    Or how cute he was, doing the rescuing!
     
    Watching Lacy descend the ladder, Clint figured he’d been a bit hasty coming back. The woman was dangerous to his mental health. She was trouble all right. He told himself not to get mixed up with her, but…every time he saw her, he liked what he saw. It wasn’t only the looks that set her apart, it was her mouth. When she opened it and smarted off—well, he liked it. He kind of enjoyed the banter. But that didn’t mean he wanted anything to come of it. Because he didn’t.
    She’d reached the bottom rung and was mere inches from him. Up close, she was flushed more than he’d first thought. Stubborn woman could be near a heatstroke already.
    “Cowboy,” she said, cupping her palm against his jaw. He started at the surprise contact. “I can tell you’re used to getting your way, people jumping at your every command. I’ve done it this time—” She dropped her hand and started walking up the steps to her salon. “But—” she paused at the door and looked over her shoulder at him “—I wouldn’t get used to it if I were you.”
    The woman seriously impaired his thinking process. Clint shook his head and forced his gaze from the doorway through which Lacy had just disappeared. To think he’d rushed back to town to show some neighborly goodwill by helping paint her building. All the while telling himself he could handle being near her.
    Her touch on his cheek had snagged his attention and set his skin to tingling, but it was the challenge in her words that had him wanting—what? Wanting to crowd her space and see what happened. That’s what.
    “Clint, you want us to start painting?”
    “Yeah, that’s what I want,” he snapped, turning to his top hand, J.P. He’d walked over while Clint had been drowning in thoughts and now stood beside him staring up at the building in shock. “Get the boys started. I want this building painted by nightfall.” Clint secured his hat firmly in place. It wouldn’t do for the men to see his pink hair. He’d never get any work out of them for all the bad jokes and rank laughter. He tugged at his waistband and squared his shoulders before turning back toward the doorway. He and Lacy had some business to finish and he needed to make certain she hadn’t walked into the cool building and passed out.
    “Sir?”
    He paused at the door and lifted an eyebrow at the bitter face the younger man was making. “Something bothering you, J.P.?”
    “Well—” he shrugged a shoulder toward the building “—pink?”
    Clint’s sentiments exactly. “Yeah, pink,” he said, then stomped into Lacy’s flaming flamingo building.
    He found her standing beside a small refrigerator downing a glass of water. Instantly his gut twisted at the sight of her, relaxed for the first time. After a moment he forced his gaze away to the safety of surveying the room.
    What a mess! Wallpaper peeled away from one wall, another wasn’t even drywalled! Instead, naked brick met his gaze. The floor was hardwood and very near ruination. Beat-up with age, it had been swept but would require more than the bristles of a broom to become presentable. The fifteen-foot ceiling wasn’t much better with its ancient light fixtures off-kilter, some hanging by mere threads. At best, the place was a regular firetrap. If Lacy were half smart, she’d do herself a favor, toss a match to the place and walk away.
    But obviously Lacy and her friend, who was squatted in a corner peeling paper, weren’t half-smart. They were slap crazy.
    “Don’t you love it?”
    Love it? He twisted, searching for what Lacy was speaking of, but she was looking at him and he knew, with startling

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