Betting on Hope

by Debra Clopton

  Like Maggie, in her classy red heels, her funky blue car and that pretty dress that fluttered around her knees when she walked. Jenna wore sweats and oversize T-shirts.

  No, her Hope needed a shot.

  And it didn’t matter that since arriving here Jenna kept having pangs of . . . regret. She was finding her baby a happy home. It was one thing she could do for Hope.

  It didn’t matter that it was killing Jenna to think about it. She was doing it and that was final.

  Maggie had shown Jenna real kindness, and this was the kindness she could do for her baby girl.

  And it didn’t matter if thinking about it every second of the day made her sick to her stomach. It was happening.

  It was done . . . if there was one thing Jenna was, she was tough, so she could do this. She could do this for her baby.

  “It’s creepy, Amanda. You should hear the coyotes out there howling.” Maggie had made it back from the grocery store just before dusk set in. “And at dusk when I got back from the grocery store, there were shadows everywhere, looming out from the woods around this cabin.”

  Amanda laughed on the other end of the line.

  “Stop that,” Maggie demanded. “You’d have to be here to understand.”

  “I’m from Weatherford, right up the road from Wishing Springs, Mags. Remember, I’m a country girl gone city. You’re a city girl gone country.”

  “Ha, I beg your pardon, I have not gone country. I’m only here under extreme duress.”

  “This is so unlike you. Where is the woman with the heart and spirit of a mother tiger? There is something going on here that really has you stirred up, and I suspect it has more to do with that hunky cowboy than those spooky woods. Woods are not spooky, Mags. They are peaceful and calming to the soul. All things you could use right now. Tru really gets to you, doesn’t he?”

  “No . . .” Maggie had hurried back to the cabin from the grocery store as fast as possible, not certain she could find it in the dark. The last thing she’d wanted was to get lost in the dark and need to have Tru come rescue her again.

  “You say that with such conviction.” Delight rang in Amanda’s chuckle. “You can deny all you want, but I know. I remember your words the first time I told you I was doing an interview with him. You said, and I quote: ‘He is the best looking man in the world’ ”

  “I knew it. You set me up.”

  “Well, believe me, I did not get the flu on purpose. But yes, I may have remembered that statement when I suggested a replacement. But you set yourself up for this bet gig. And I, for one, am enjoying it immensely. I can’t wait to see what you do with this opportunity.”

  Truth was, Maggie was tied in knots thinking about the things she was still to face. “I still can’t believe that one crazy slip of the mouth puts me in this all-or-nothing position. You and I both know that this is all about Tru. I’m interchangeable with any other female silly enough to open her mouth and put her foot in it like I did. But, like Ms. Davenport said, the clock was ticking on my column’s life.”

  “Your blunder is actually a gift. This at least gives you a shot at redeeming your standings. And increasing your readership by giving you visibility you’ve never had. And you said yourself, this could be your shot at syndication.”

  Maggie had been dreaming of being the next Dear Abby, and Amanda knew this. But it was a far-fetched dream. Until now. “Which is another reason why I would never come here to make goo-goo eyes with Tru. Not only am I interchangeable with any other female as far as your television audience is concerned, I’m also interchangeable for Tru. The man’s wandering eye has been well documented. So this is all about the health of my column.”

  Amanda sighed. “Well, one thing about you, Maggie, is you have the ability to cut to the truth of an issue.”

  “It comes from bad experiences—”

  “I’ve admired you from the moment I met you. You’ve overcome things that would have broken most people. And that’s exactly why the people who read your column stick with you. You give good advice. You really do care about the problems of every person who writes you. All you need is some attention so more people find out how awesome you are.”

  Maggie picked up the small bag of letters she’d brought with her. Amanda knew more about her than anyone and she understood so much about where Maggie wanted to go but . . . but there was so much Amanda didn’t know. And never would. No one would.

  She pulled the bag closer and started trying to open it with one hand. So much of what Amanda had said was true. She was blunt sometimes and more focused on giving good advice than anyone knew. But it was as much about her as it was about the readers. For Maggie, there was redemption inside this bag.

  Atonement . . .

  “You’ll be okay, Mags. And, you’re going to have some very nice scenery helping you learn to ride that horse.”

  Maggie paused opening the bag and focused on the conversation. “Amanda, I am not interested in the scenery.”

  Amanda only laughed. “Sure, you’re not, and that’s completely fine. But you can still enjoy the view. Hey, I’m going to let you get on with your letters. And then get a good night’s sleep. You’ve got a busy day coming. Enjoy,” she teased and disconnected, but her chuckle echoed through the dead phone line.

  Maggie tossed the phone onto the couch beside her. She rubbed her temple. Not only did she have to face her first lesson, but she also would begin to get to know the community that her paper was expecting her to feature over the next few weeks.

  Odd as it was, this bet was a gift, and now she had to find a way to add this town, the television special, and that blundering bet all together to save her column.

  But right now, she had letters to answer.

  9

  Maggie’s alarm didn’t go off.

  Miraculously, at six-fifteen she rolled over, lifted thick lids, and groggily peeked at the glaring red lights of her alarm clock. Six-fifteen.

  What?

  Heart thundering, she sprang to a sitting position. She was going to be late.

  She couldn’t be late.

  Maggie flew out of bed. Tangled in the covers, she stumbled and disengaged from them and finally made it into the bathroom. She grabbed her toothbrush and scrubbed her teeth while yanking clothes from her suitcase with her free hand.

  Five minutes later she was speeding—bumping and jerking—down the dirt road toward the stables.

  Skidding to a halt, she bolted from her car and didn’t stop running until she reached the double doors of the horse barn and spotted Tru.

  Smokin’ tortillas! What a cowboy sight to see first thing in the morning.

  Surprise lit his expression as he saw her—a splash of cold water to her runaway imagination—because it was immediately clear that he hadn’t believed she’d show up on time.

  “So,” she said, trying to sound more upbeat than she felt. “What bone am I going to break today?”

  “You’re not going to break anything. I promise.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she muttered, focusing on the horse she was expected to ride. She’d be lucky if she could hang on.

  “Relax, I’m not putting you on Stardust today. You’re going to brush him and groom him and get to know him. I want you comfortable with him before I put you on his back for the first time.”

  Her nerves eased a little looking at the brush he held out to her.

  “Slip your hand in here like so,” he demonstrated the right way to hold the brush. Turning toward Stardust, he placed the brush on his side and stroked downward. “See, he’s used to this, so you don’t have to worry. I’d never put you with a skittish horse.”

  She looked at him. There was sincerity in his eyes, but his proximity made her more aware of the heat coming off his skin.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “N-no. Why should I?” she blurted out. She barely knew him—sure he took her breath away—but that was certainly no reason to trust him or any man. Besides, ho
w many other females’ breath had he stolen?

  “No?” he repeated.

  “Don’t look so shocked. I don’t trust any man as far as I can toss a boulder.” Especially one who smelled of fresh soap and tangy aftershave that threatened to distract her. She frowned and held her hand out. “May I try?”

  He pulled the brush from his hand and placed it in her extended palm. Their fingertips brushed and she jerked her hand away and almost fumbled the brush.

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re right. This is about you building a relationship with Stardust.”

  “Right.” Maggie stepped tentatively toward Stardust. “So, like this?”

  Stardust looked over his shoulder at her with accusing eyes—as if the horse knew what she’d been thinking about. Hadn’t she heard horses were intuitive?

  They had instinct. Maybe she could learn a thing or two from them.

  She began brushing the horse and he just stood there. Like a good horse.

  Doing exactly what Tru had shown her, she concentrated on each stroke, conscious that Tru was watching her.

  “That’s good,” he said. “See, that’s not so bad, is it?”

  A knot in Maggie’s chest that she hadn’t even realized was there eased a little.

  “It’s okay. He likes it,” she said. “I’m brushing a horse.” With a giddy feeling, she smiled at Tru.

  His dark brows dipped. “See, there, what’d I tell you? All you have to do is trust me and it’s all going to be just fine.”

  Maggie stiffened. He tossed out the word trust as if it was the easiest, most natural undertaking in the world . . . like deciding to enjoy breathing.

  But trust . . . it wasn’t something so easily decided.

  She stilled her enthusiasm over having touched a horse. She had simply made the first step. She had a long way to go.

  And Tru—wasn’t he being the hypocrite? After all, he thought she should trust him, but he’d made it clear he didn’t trust her. She needed to remember that.

  Maggie’s expression puzzled Tru.

  If he’d expected her to look at him after that statement and suddenly change her position on trusting him, he was wrong. Instead she said nothing, turning her attention back to Stardust.

  She didn’t trust him. News flash: he didn’t trust her either, but it bugged him that she hadn’t even hesitated when she’d answered his question.

  What in her past had put this chip on her shoulder against men? Because she had said she didn’t trust men. He guessed he should be relieved that it wasn’t just him, but he wasn’t. Right here, right now—this was only about him and about her.

  “You could ease up a little, you know,” he grunted, irritation pricking at him like a woodpecker. To be honest, he wasn’t in the easiest of moods today, and this hadn’t helped. Since learning that he’d soon be going through with the test that would tell him if he had the ability to be a father, a biological dad, he was as tense as freshly stretched barbed wire.

  He nabbed another brush from the bucket next to the stall entrance and moved to the other side of Stardust, needing the movement to calm himself. “We’ve both agreed to this. You don’t trust me or men at all, from what I can see. And I have to admit my curiosity about all of that. But the only thing I can see that I did wrong was to help you through a rough spot in that interview. I messed it up; I get that. What I don’t get is your attitude.”

  She stared at him across the gelding’s back. Those pretty eyes had flared momentarily, telling him she hadn’t expected him to confront her. Just like he hadn’t expected the two-ton cement chip perched on her delicate shoulder.

  He started brushing Stardust, focusing on each stroke and felt her gaze on him.

  “You have a lot of room to talk. You think I set you up.”

  He met her accusing gaze. “Did you?”

  She cocked her head, her expression suspiciously demure. “Why, Tru, don’t you trust me?”

  After the first awkward lesson finally ended, Maggie headed to town intent on meeting some of the locals. If she were to write some of the weekly articles about the town then she needed to meet the locals. Those were going to be her focus rather than her training, if at all possible. She hated the idea of writing things about Tru—she wasn’t a tabloid writer and she really didn’t want to resort to anything that resembled it. If she could find something, anything that would grab attention and be of interest other than Tru Monahan that was what she planned to do.

  Writing her “Gotta Have Hope” column would be the same as always, and meant reading emails and answering four of them in the column each week. But she tried to answer as many as she could, and it was exhausting sometimes, because she actually received a lot of mail. So she knew that with the added assignments, she had her work cut out for her if she were to get it all done successfully. And she had to be successful.

  She just had to be.

  There were so many women out there who had gotten raw deals looking for love. Men too. Love was complicated. Life was, too, and she was proof of that. But despite her own mixed-up past, she’d found that she was good at giving advice or at least helping her audience feel uplifted.

  But there was a strong sense of joy that filled her when she was able to help someone look past the pain of a breakup and move forward. To realize they deserved more than they were giving themselves credit for. There was nothing like the feeling she got when someone she’d helped wrote her and told her something she’d said helped them.

  She’d grown comfortable with her column. But this new assignment put her in unfamiliar territory.

  She had to get to know this town, had to meet the people, and figure out a way to use it to save her column.

  As she got out of her car, two ladies moved from the sidewalk across the street, excitement radiating from them as they hustled her way. It was the two eavesdroppers from the interview.

  “Maggie,” the shorter of the two called, several strands of very chunky, very gaudy jewelry bouncing and jangling as she jostled to a halt. “We wanted to welcome you to Wishing Springs.”

  “We’ve been so excited ever since we heard you were coming,” the taller woman said, her smile wide as she pushed her blunt, chin-length brown hair behind her ear.

  “Hi,” Maggie said. This was perfect. “I remember y’all. You were in the kitchen at the Bull Barn during the interview.” She remembered them all right—their voices could even be heard on the tape, breathless and animated. She was certain that they’d helped add some excitement to the interview and the powers that be felt it and realized others would feel it too.

  One thing had been certain, they’d believed in Tru.

  Now they beamed.

  “I’m Clara Lyn Conway,” the short one said and waved a bejeweled hand toward her friend. “This is my sidekick Reba Moorsby. We co-own the Cut Up and Roll salon. If it’s to be known, we know it,” she stated with pride.

  “We are certain that you’ll be a really good rider by the time our Tru gets done with you,” Reba assured her. “We’re on our way to the Bull Barn for our weekly lunch meeting. Come along. Everyone is dying to meet you.”

  Maggie’s adrenaline started humming and she agreed to the lunch invitation without hesitating. “I came to meet people, so this is perfect.”

  Reba and Clara Lyn grinned at each other.

  “Then lunch at the Bull Barn is where you need to be,” Reba said. “How’s the hand, by the way?”

  Clara Lyn took Maggie’s arm and inspected the bandage. “Doonie and Doobie told us they saw you at Doc’s after you were bitten by Pops’s dog.”

  Maggie had heard things traveled fast in small towns. “It’s fine.” She gave an unenthusiastic grin. “He didn’t mean anything by it. I shouldn’t have crawled under the bed with him.”

  “You crawled under the bed with him?” Clara Lyn gasped.

  “He was stuck.”

  “The dog was stuck?” Reba asked.

  “Yes.” She started to clarify why she’d cr
awled under there and then remembered how Tru didn’t want her putting anything in the papers about Pops and his Alzheimer’s. She wasn’t sure how he felt about the town’s people knowing about Pops’s problems. “Yes, when I arrived he was under there, and he was wailing, so I was just going to try and help him out. I should have waited on Tru to arrive.”

  “They said you got stuck.”

  She looked at Reba. “Well,” she swallowed, they were all going to think she was some brainless woman, “I jumped when the dog bit me, and I wedged myself there sideways by accident.” There, that should explain it. And she’d said nothing about Pops.

  Fifteen minutes later Maggie saw that Reba had been right about lunch at the Bull Barn being the place to be to meet folks. The parking lot was packed. She found an empty spot and then followed the two ladies inside.

  Unlike the emptiness on the day of the interview, today there were people popping out of every nook and cranny. All talking ceased momentarily as Big Shorty came up to greet them, then led them toward a table.

  Conversation resumed, and folks began stopping them as they passed by. The women asked about the interview. The men—cowboys—didn’t say anything. From a table in the corner, either Doonie or Doobie waved. The twin was sitting at the head of a table with several older men and a couple of ladies.

  “How’s the hand?” he called. “You haven’t tried to be puppy food anymore, have you?”

  It felt awkward to hold a conversation with the entire diner. “No,” she answered.

  “Did you start your lessons yet?” someone else asked.

  “Isn’t that Tru a hunk?” a petite lady said heartily. She was sitting at the end of the table with the Burke twin.

  Maggie really didn’t know how to answer that. Yes, Tru Monahan was a hunk. A hunky ladies’ man, making him absolutely, decidedly not her type with his womanizing exploits. Then there was the issue of discussing it in the middle of the diner with a pint-size woman well into her seventies, not to mention everyone else in the room listening and grinning at her as they waited on her answer. It was a little overwhelming.