Betting on Hope

by Debra Clopton

  The dog, wherever it was, wailed louder and the older man’s eyes grew wider. There was a blankness—a confusion—in their depths heightened by his frantic, panicked expression.

  When the dog let out another endless yowl, the man waved his hands for her to come inside. “Help my baby,” he said. “Help.”

  Feeling frantic and scrambled herself, Maggie didn’t hesitate. “Is it your dog?” she asked, hurrying behind him as he led the way down a wide entrance hall, then cut left down a narrower hall.

  “My puppy.”

  They entered a room dominated by a gigantic wooden bed. The headboard was made of carved logs and the footboard was nearly as massive. It took up the entire room. The thin man eased to his knees, obviously stiff with age and probably abuse from years of cowboy’n. Not waiting to follow, Maggie plopped down onto the floor. The terrified sounds were so loud now that they were in the room it was a wonder the bed wasn’t hovering.

  Yanking up the bedspread, Maggie found herself staring at—not a puppy, but the fattest Basset Hound she’d ever seen.

  Why, the dog was wedged between the bed and the floor as if the bed had been dropped on top of it. How had it squeezed in there?

  “Baby,” the frail man said, now that he’d finally managed to get to the floor.

  The term sounded so heartfelt that it tugged at Maggie’s gut. His gaze reached out to her, pleading. Something wasn’t right with this picture. To look at the man you would think he was fine, but his reactions were not right. Could this be dementia? Not that she had much contact with it. Whatever it was, the man needed help.

  “It’s okay,” she urged, patting his arm. “I’ll get you your baby.”

  The dog was now really wailing and yelping like she was poking it with a prod or something. It sounded like it was in agony. The man looked as if he were about to cry. Maggie didn’t think twice. She dropped to her belly and scooted under the bed.

  She sneezed three times in a row from the dust, causing the dog to scream more—just what she needed. She wedged herself under the bed to get to it. She grunted—not sure who was going to get her out and even more uncertain how she was going to get the plump Bassett Hound free. How had he gotten under here? Crawled under with the hindquarter of a buffalo and then eaten it? Or eaten a whole one?

  “Hey, pooch, calm down,” she urged, her rump scraping the bed frame as she moved deeper into the shadowy depths. The dog’s eyes, white saucers of terror, glared at her.

  She sneezed again and the pooch wailed louder. Now almost even with the animal, Maggie inched a little farther under, a tight squeeze for her hips.

  “Come on.” She reached out to the dog—not her smartest move. Second only to her crawling under the bed. The moment her fingers got close enough, the pooch hauled off and took a bite out of her.

  “Ouch!” Maggie jerked sideways, she was so shocked. She was bleeding. The dog growled and suddenly she feared it might be able to come after her now that she was stuck.

  Stuck—Maggie grunted and tried to budge, but when she twisted sideways she wedged her shoulders more tightly between the bed and the floor.

  “Come on,” she gasped, wriggling, trying to budge. There was no use. Her shoulders hurt.

  “Maggie?”

  The familiar drawl sent a shot of warmth spreading through her. Hope flared and a fiery adrenaline hit every nerve ending in a euphoric rush.

  Gripping her bleeding hand, she cocked her head so that she could see Tru. He stared at her from where he’d crouched down beside her feet. He placed his hand on her ankles and she forgot to breathe.

  “Looks like you’re having problems,” he said, as if she was having trouble tying her shoelace instead of being wedged under the bed like a pig in a blanket.

  “Hi.” It was the only thing that popped into her brain. It wasn’t lost to her that for the second time they’d met, she was in a crazy fix.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, that oh-so-amazing grin on his face.

  Only then did she realize the dog had stopped its incessant noise. She was getting past the wave of heat that had hit her—adjusting to his touch and the throbbing of her hand was responsible for that. “Um, I crawled under here to help this, this ungrateful mutt because your grandfather was upset. And it bit me. And now I’m stuck.”

  She glanced at her hand. She was holding it tightly to her chest. Blood oozed from the throbbing doggy-teeth-shaped wound in the flesh of the meaty part of her hand below her thumb.

  “Solomon bit you?” Tru banged his head on the underside of the bed as he tried to see her hand better.

  “Yes, and I’m stuck,” she said, grumpily.

  “Hang on,” he snapped, then stood.

  All she could see were his scuffed cowboy boots and jeans so faded they looked as soft as silk. He moved to the end of the bed where she couldn’t see him any longer. She was left looking at the now-docile mutt.

  “If I lift, can you get out?”

  “I think so.” The cramped quarters suddenly seemed to squeeze tighter and Maggie’s heart raced. She sneezed again and instantly the dog began wailing.

  “Okay,” Tru called over the noise. “Ready?”

  “Oh, boy, am I.” It was all she could do not to start wailing right along with the pooch.

  The bed lifted and blessed relief washed over her. She didn’t hesitate—oh, no, she did not—the instant she could move, she belly-crawled out of there almost faster than the fat, floppy-eared hound.

  With a backward glare, the beast let out another long yowl, as if warning her it would like to bite her again. Maggie gave it an I-just-dare-you glare and it ducked around the edge of the door and out of sight.

  Blessed silence remained.

  “Baby,” the bewildered man called and shuffled after the dog.

  Tru stooped beside her and before she could stop him he’d taken her hand in his—just like in the interview. Instant heat spread from his touch, licking through her like a wildfire.

  She frowned. If it hadn’t been for him taking her hand during the interview, they wouldn’t be in this fix.

  “Let me look at that,” he said, seeming not to notice that she wasn’t exactly thrilled that he was touching her.

  Maggie tried to ignore the way his touch affected her. His eyes narrowed—as if he felt the jolt too. And at that thought Maggie’s heart tripped over itself. She looked away. She had forgotten exactly what it felt like to look into those intense golden eyes.

  “Come on, let’s get you in the kitchen and clean this up.” He helped her to her feet then led her down the hall and into the kitchen.

  She fought the urge to pull away. This reaction to him was not going to help her situation.

  He took her over to the sink and turned on the water, testing it for warmth before thrusting her wound beneath.

  Her breath caught the instant the warm water hit the wound. She winced and bit her lip.

  “Sorry.” Tru looked down at her, so close she could see the gilded specks in his irises that caught the light from the window like stardust. “This is bad, Maggie. I’m really sorry about Solomon. He’s old and not the best-behaved dog. But he’s crazy about my Pops and Pops is crazy about him. He senses when Pop is having a bad day and it just makes him act weird.”

  “I shouldn’t have climbed under there,” she said, finally, glad her voice sounded almost normal. “I should have been more careful. It wasn’t like I didn’t know he was in distress.”

  “It was probably pretty intense. My Pops is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.” Bone-deep sadness filled Tru’s eyes. He looked away and focused on her hand.

  She felt for him.

  Tru pulled her arm from the water and reached into the drawer at his knee and pulled out a blue dish towel. Gently he toweled off the water, then wrapped her arm.

  “We need to take you to the clinic and have Bertha look at this. Have you had your tetanus shot?”

  Pops wandered in and looked over Tru’s shoulder at her like
a little boy checking out something cool.

  “Yes, I have.” It hurt like the dickens, but she didn’t want to put anyone out or make Pops feel bad, though the doctor really sounded like a good idea. “I’m fine, I’ll just wrap it in gauze.”

  “Nope, you’re going to the clinic. Come with me.” He led the way through the house to the front door with Pops trailing. “Pops, stay here, Bo will be here in a minute.” Tru’s heart was heavy with the knowledge that his Pops was getting worse and they might be to the point that he would no longer be able to stay by himself, even though he and his brothers lived so close. Closing the door, he pulled his phone from its holster and punched a speed-dial number.

  “Bo,” he said. “We’ve had a little accident at Pops’s. Solomon took a bite out of Maggie, and Pops needs you up here. He was a little upset. I’m taking Maggie to see Bertha.” He nodded at something Bo on the other end of the conversation said. “Yeah, he’s calm now, but I don’t know for how long. And put Solomon behind the doggie gate until we figure out what to do about this. We can’t have him biting people.”

  He ended the call and slid the phone back into its case and led the way to his truck. He opened the door then slipped his hand beneath her elbow to help her inside. She was glad of it. Her arm was throbbing now.

  She hadn’t wanted to come here. Had forced herself to pack her things into her car and head toward Wishing Springs and this . . .

  This was not the start of this ridiculous venture that she’d expected.

  But like everything else about this deal, it was out of her control.

  Maggie didn’t do out-of-control very well.

  6

  Tru drove toward town. He hadn’t wanted Maggie here, but he certainly didn’t wish her any ill will. Finding her stuck beneath the massive bed he’d built in high school shop class had been a shocker.

  “This is all so messed up.” Maggie slouched in her passenger seat beside him, pain etched on her pretty features. “If this is a sign of what’s to come, then we’re in more trouble than I thought.”

  “I’m sorry you’re hurt and I’m getting you to the doc to take care of that, but this isn’t exactly my fault. Maybe we should leave this conversation for another time.”

  “Sure, maybe after we get back and one of your horses tosses me off in the name of fun?” she said, in a dismal tone.

  He slid an accusing glance her way. “You didn’t have to offer up that challenge like you did.”

  Her green eyes flared. “You were the one who touched me. There’s no touching during an interview. And then you had to turn those honey-colored eyes so the camera could read your concern.”

  “Isn’t that a pretty way of puttin’ it? I was concerned, if you have to know.”

  “So, the best plan of action would have been to keep that concern to yourself. Not let the public see it and put their own spin on it.”

  “Like I said, you’re the one who threw out that ridiculous bet to me.”

  “I was nervous. And you were the one holding my hand.”

  He scowled and watched the road. “This is going to be a long two months. Just so you know, I don’t want to do this, but my sponsors pay me to do the promotions they want and that includes this. They obviously want this bad, because every one of them are on board. My hands are tied.”

  “Kind of like you tied mine when you insisted we go outside the Bull Barn and see your horse? I’m in just as deep, or deeper, than you are, cowboy. Have you seen how many people have looked at that video and watched me—” she clamped her mouth tight and stared out the windshield.

  Guilt piled on Tru like a mudslide. He’d never called and checked on her after he’d learned that he was going to be forced into this situation. After realizing she’d probably set him up. “Look, I’m sorry about that. I really am. I had no idea. But you set me up.”

  Her expression could have melted the Antarctic. “Set you up?”

  “That bet was premeditated.”

  “How was I supposed to know you were going to brag about teaching anyone to ride? And do you seriously think I have any interest in getting on a cutting horse after what happened? My coordination isn’t my pride and joy. It’s embarrassing, but true.”

  She sounded completely disgusted with herself and authentic. And just like the day of the interview, he found himself wanting to make her feel better. “I thought it was those red high heels. It was a poor choice of attire.”

  “If the Bull Barn had had a paved parking lot like a normal business establishment, then my shoe choice wouldn’t have mattered,” she huffed, her cheeks burning prettily.

  “I hate to break it to you, but Wishing Springs isn’t Houston. We don’t find the need to pave every extra piece of ground there is.” He pulled into the parking lot—the paved parking lot she noted—of a small red brick building. Health Clinic was written above the door and there was a closed sign in the window.

  “It’s Monday,” Tru grumbled, put the truck in reverse, and headed out of the parking lot. “I forgot what day it was. Clinic is open Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.” He glanced at her. She might be putting up a good front, but she was in pain. Solomon had bitten her hard and deep, though their arguing had distracted her.

  “That’s okay, I’ll be fine.”

  “No, you need to see a doctor. Doc Hallaway will fix you right up.” Tru turned into a parking lot a half mile down the road and parked between two trucks.

  The sign read Hallaway Veterinary.

  “But—” Maggie’s brows scrunched. “That’s a veterinary clinic.”

  “Yup. That’d be right. Doc’s the next best thing. He’ll fix you right up. Most folks around here think he’s a better doctor than most.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

  He was out of the truck and around to her side by the time her feet touched the ground.

  “But, but this is a vet. An animal doctor,” she said, eyes huge.

  “Yes, but he’s a very good vet.”

  The man had brought her to see a veterinarian.

  Feeling as if she’d been thrown into a scene of the movie Doc Hollywood, Maggie followed Tru inside the animal clinic, feet dragging.

  Only because her wound was yelling for attention did she ignore the need to protest—that and she was in shock.

  A vet. Seriously?

  There was no one behind the reception desk and the place was empty except for two men who jumped up from their seats smiling the minute she walked in.

  Obviously twins, each had sandy brown hair, sleepy brown eyes over a long straight nose balanced by a wide mouth and identical grins.

  “Hey, fellas,” Tru said giving each man a handshake. “This is Maggie Hope. Is the doc in?” Tru asked, sounding distracted as he looked toward the back.

  “Maggie Hope?” asked the one in the green shirt. “The reporter?”

  “What do we have here?” the twin in the blue shirt asked as Maggie moved to sit down.

  “A dog bit me.” She didn’t bother correcting the reporter comment.

  “A dog,” they chorused.

  “Did you take the dog to see Bertha at the health clinic?” Blue-shirt-twin asked, grinning.

  “Funny, Doonie,” Tru drawled, looking around. “Where’s Doc?”

  “He’s out there vaccinating a trailer-load of goats.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Tru strode around the counter and headed down a hallway and out the door at the end.

  The twins introduced themselves as Doonie and Doobie Burke.

  “Obviously our parents had a sense of humor,” Doobie in the green shirt said.

  “I got the good name, he got the weird name,” Doonie in the blue shirt added with a grin.

  She chuckled despite her throbbing hand. “I love your names.” Her mind was working on how to use them in her column. She was going to have to figure out how to approach this next column, how to make it work. Interesting.

  “I’m the mayor
of Wishing Springs,” the one in the blue shirt said. Doonie, she thought. “But me and Doobie own the real estate agency in town.”

  “That’s right,” the other man grinned. “When you need a property, just give us a call.”

  “I doubt I’ll need to buy any real estate. If I do, though, I’ll come see you.”

  Both men smiled again and came to stare intently at her wound.

  “That is nasty,” one said.

  “Doc’s got enough needles in here to fix a few horses, though, so you’re gonna be just fine,” one offered, chuckling.

  Maggie was not reassured.

  “If it leaves a nasty scar you could make it into a tattoo of a flower, or a Tasmanian devil,” the other, Doobie, said or was it Doonie? Maggie was confused.

  Their parents must have had a great sense of humor to have given them these confusing names. Maybe that was where they got their quick-witted personalities. Whereever it came from, Maggie was glad to have someone to take her mind off her hand. And the pain in her side that was Tru Monahan.

  He reappeared within five minutes followed by an older man with wild, thick white hair and busy eyebrows above penetrating pale blue eyes.

  “Well, don’t just sit there, get her into my office,” the man barked the moment he saw her.

  Even if she’d wanted to run—which she was thinking more and more about doing—she couldn’t with the twins at her side. Each one took an elbow and helped her stand—as if she’d walked in with broken legs, not an injured hand.

  “How’s the pain?” Tru asked, moving aside as she was escorted past him.

  She didn’t answer him.

  The doc waved her to a chair in the examining room while digging for supplies with the other hand. The place looked clean, at least. Dogs barked from behind a door down the hall and there was a whole lot of mooing going on back there as well. If that wasn’t enough, about the time she sat down, she heard the distinct pitter-patter of something trotting down the hall. A potbellied pig burst into the room. Trotted right in and looked about as if it had business there.

  Knee-high with a white body and big brown spots covering its shoulders, the pig’s skin beneath its short hair was a bright rosy pink. It studied her with big brown eyes then pranced over and stuck its pink snout into her face.