In the end, Big Shorty saved her. “All right everyone, the interrogation is over for the moment. Let Miss Hope get to her table and enjoy her lunch.”
Maggie could have kissed the man as he escorted them to a table and handed out menus. The man took care of his clients.
Melting gratefully into her chair, she took the menu and pretended to study it as Big Shorty headed off to get the tea and waters that they all ordered.
The place was buzzing about the column, the TV special, and the riding challenge. Much speculation abounded. Though they were honoring the owner’s decree to let her get her meal underway, she soon found herself involved in what was more like a huge family gathering.
The general consensus: the town was genuinely excited about the publicity that she’d generated for their friendly town.
During the conversation, her attention was grabbed by the man she’d seen at the grocery the night before. Today, though his hat sat a little crookedly on his head, he didn’t appear to be in the least bit tipsy. Or to recognize her.
“Did you say that was Wishing Springs’s city council sitting with Doonie?”
Clara Lyn nodded. “Each and every one.”
Maggie couldn’t believe her eyes. The man in the jaunty hat, the drunk from the grocery store, was Mr. Radcliff—town councilman?
The plot thickened; Maggie was shocked. It wasn’t as if people in positions like that didn’t get drunk. But still, she was shocked.
He wore a neatly pressed oxford shirt and his hair was combed impeccably, every thick silver strand in place. Yesterday he’d been wearing a rumpled cotton shirt and khaki pants, and when his hat fell off, his hair had been mushed and hanging in his eyes.
Clara Lyn caught her staring at the man. She leaned in close. “That is Rand Radcliff,” she whispered. “He’s the editor of the Wishing Springs Gazette. I’m sure he’s going to be wanting an interview from you for the paper. He’s a bit of a scoundrel. You know, he tends to tip the bottle a little.”
Reba clucked her tongue twice. “When he’s not loaded, he’s a dear and a good reporter and editor. But . . .”
“It’s sad,” Clara Lyn picked up where Reba trailed off. “Real sad.” Then with a shake of her head, Clara Lyn turned to Maggie. “So, we read your column. You give things such a hopeful twist. You know, in the beauty shop, I often give advice. People just come in and tell me their life stories. It’s not like I even ask. They just do. And Reba can tell you that I do give good advice.” She dipped her chin. “I take it very seriously.”
Reba nodded. “Too seriously, sometimes. She went on a stakeout for a customer once.”
“I don’t do stakeouts anymore.”
Reba glared at her. “That’s a good thing.”
Clara Lyn blushed. “There are just some things your beauty operator does not need to know.”
Reba hiked a brow. “I tried to warn you.”
“I know. But my clients are important to me and sometimes I just get carried away.”
Maggie was smiling. She couldn’t help it. These two were alive with energy and it was very easy to see that they cared. “I take my job seriously too,” she confessed. “All these people write to me, and I have this fear that I’m going to say something wrong. So I try mostly to find ways to help them see hope in their situation. It’s not like I can actually change their problems. But, God has always been there for me, and I know that in my darkest hours, I had hope. He gave me strength.” She paused, letting her purpose fill her up like gas to an empty tank. “There are really good people out there, so I try to shine a light their direction too.”
“You do, dear. You do,” Reba cooed. “I read that column you wrote two weeks ago about that woman who is the child advocate. She was amazing.”
“And she gives hope to those kids out there who need a champion,” Maggie pointed out. She could have used someone like Silvia Tatum when she’d been a kid.
“So this other column about the bet, what’s it going to be about?” Reba asked.
“I’m trying to figure that out as I go. But I just thought I’d write about the town, and things that are going on here, and of course I have to write something about the bet, you know, Tru and me.”
Clara Lyn and Reba looked at each other thoughtfully and then grinned.
“That sounds perfect,” Clara Lyn said. “We might be a hole-in-the-road town, according to some, but we are interesting. And I suspect strongly that Tru will give you a host of interesting things to write.”
Both women beamed at her in a way that put Maggie on alert. “Hold on,” she cautioned. “Contrary to what everyone is likely thinking, I am not here for Tru in that manner. And he is not looking at me in that manner. So I’m exploring other aspects of the story. Any ideas would be greatly appreciated.”
“Well, that is a cry’n shame,” Reba huffed. “And I can hold out for ‘Tru’ love to blossom—get my pun?” She smiled with coyness in her expression.
“Me too,” Clara Lyn agreed. “But in the meantime, we are having the Thanksgiving in July celebration in three weeks. You could write about that. Might get us a lot of tourists coming in and a lot of business for a good cause.”
Maggie sat up straighter. “Thanksgiving in July?”
Clara Lyn quickly filled her in. Mayor Doonie Burke had come up with the idea last year to help raise money for Over the Rainbow. The festival had booths, turkey frying by the men, and games.
Relief and a rush of excitement filled Maggie as her mind started whirling with the thought of things to plump up the article. It was so much better than what she had before:
Wishing Springs, hometown of hunky champion Tru Monahan. A lovely town with an awesome home for pregnant girls, fat Basset Hounds that bite, and a local veterinarian who’ll doctor you up while you enjoy the bedside ministrations of Clover the pig . . .
Thanksgiving in July was so much better. Of course she had two months of articles to fill, but at least she had some things to focus on other than just Tru Monahan’s hunk appeal.
Two hours later Maggie was actually smiling as she drove back toward the ranch. She’d had fun at lunch. After she’d adjusted to the questions being hurled at her like baseballs from a batting machine. She’d come away looking forward to writing a column that introduced the warm, welcoming town to her readers. This silly bet had a plus . . . she had the power to help the town benefit from a thorn in her side.
That pleased her.
After all, if they were going to have to go through this, then someone should benefit. It might as well be this town. The people seemed genuine. Clara Lyn tended to talk but she seemed to have a good heart, as did Reba.
And then there was Over the Rainbow. During the meal she’d asked the ladies about the home for unwed mothers and found out it had a great reputation. The two ladies who ran it were top-notch, and the girls there got great care.
Maggie smiled and her heart clenched at the knowledge. She’d sensed that poor Jenna had gotten herself out of a terrible situation and had chosen wisely when she’d come here.
Tomorrow, Maggie would go and check on Jenna.
10
“Jenna, girl, you lookin’ like you’re ready to pop.”
“Look who’s talking.” Jenna grinned at the tall, young black teen who was due three weeks after her. “The only reason I’m bigger than you is because you’re three feet taller than me.”
Kasandra chuckled. “Everyone is three feet taller than you.”
They were walking the long drive for exercise and their shadows emphasized the difference in their heights all the more. The girls had formed a tentative friendship, despite that after their babies were born, the odds of them ever seeing each other again were not likely.
Kasandra had her eyes set on college and she had plans. She’d picked out the family who would become her baby’s parents and she had no desire to see the baby after it was born. She hadn’t even asked to find out the gender.
Jenna understood this was not abno
rmal. Some girls did this to keep their distance and prevent attachment. Some girls just didn’t want to know. Kasandra was just keeping her distance. She was nice. Had come from a good family. Her father was actually a coach. And she’d gotten mixed up with a football player from his team who was heading to play college ball and had a future in the pros. Neither of them had being a parent in their plans.
Unlike Jenna, who put on a happy face and tried to let some of the positive from Kasandra rub off on her. Jenna had no plans, other than making sure her baby got a shot at life. After that was accomplished, she didn’t know. None of it was important right now.
For what seemed like forever, Jenna had just been living one day at a time, avoiding her dad’s wrath as best she could and enduring it more times than not. When she’d learned she was pregnant, it had been the first time she’d thought nine months into the future.
Hope’s daddy was a mechanic’s helper who worked at a garage on the corner down the road from the apartments where Jenna used to live. He’d been nice. He used to give her a soda when he’d see her passing by.
Jenna had eventually met him late one night and she’d given in to the tenderness he’d shown her. But that had been all of one night. She found out the next day he had a wife and a baby already.
And he’d actually laughed at her when he’d realized she’d thought their being together had meant something.
Six weeks later she found out she was pregnant, and her dad found the test. He’d beaten her so bad she had hardly been able to move afterward.
That was the night Jenna had known it was up to her.
And she’d started searching for a way out for her baby.
She and Kasandra had just made it back to the house when the unmistakable sky-blue Volkswagen turned into the drive.
Joy sang through Jenna. She couldn’t believe it. Her knees weakened. She came back.
She tried to hold back the emotions going nuts inside of her. With what seemed like superhuman strength, she lifted the heavy door and sealed her emotions safely away behind a similar door that protected her heart from the pain others could inflict on her. Not many people held that power any longer. Because she’d saved her and her baby, Maggie Hope was one of those few.
“That’s that woman who brought you here, isn’t it?” Kasandra asked, watching the little car speed up the hill.
“Uh-huh,” Jenna mumbled. She had come back.
When the car came to a halt, Jenna swallowed the elephant that was clogging her throat. It stuck in the center of her chest and hurt something awful as Maggie got out of the car smiling. She was as beautiful as Jenna had remembered.
And with all that blonde shiny hair, she really did look like an angel.
“Jenna,” she called. A radiant smile caused Jenna’s heart to kick into a fierce pounding.
“Aren’t you gonna say something?” Kasandra asked.
“It’s so good to see you,” Maggie said as she came to a halt two feet away. “You’ve made it through another week. I am so glad. You look great.”
She was talking fast. Her green eyes misted when her gaze traveled to Jenna’s stomach and then back to her face. That made Jenna have to blink hard. Her eyes burned while the elephant in her chest started doing jumping jacks. And still, Jenna couldn’t speak. If she spoke, she might cry, and Jenna did not cry. She didn’t.
Kasandra elbowed her and held out her hand to Maggie. “Hi, I’m Kasandra. You got to forgive my girl here. She doesn’t talk much.”
Maggie shook Kasandra’s hand and looked kindly at her. “Nice to meet you. When are you due?”
“Any time is fine with me, but officially in about five weeks. It sure is nice to meet you. I’ve got to head on inside. Nature calls—you know, with this child sitting on my bladder, it calls more than I’d like.” Kasandra shot Jenna a questioning look then hurried inside.
Jenna knew she had to speak. “You came back.”
It wasn’t exactly what she’d meant to say. Her instincts were to keep her emotions hidden, having learned it was safer that way, but this meant the world to her and . . . there was just no hiding it.
Maggie stood very still, staring at her as if she wasn’t sure what to say either. And then she grabbed Jenna and hugged her.
The action took Jenna by surprise . . . causing her eyes to burn with the need to cry. Her chest ached and she breathed in the scent of flowers, a soft fresh scent that wrapped around her and made her dizzy. Faded memories of being held by her mom enveloped her. Memories so old and long ago that Jenna sometimes thought she’d imagined ever really being hugged by her mom. Maggie would be about the age that Jenna’s mom had been when she’d died. Jenna had been about three. Just barely old enough to remember.
Maggie let her go after a moment, wiping her eyes as she stepped back. “I am just so happy to see you. I have thought about you so much. You are a brave girl, Jenna, and you had me so worried.”
“You’ve thought about me?”
“How could I not? When I found out I was going to have to come back to Wishing Springs, seeing you and your baby—if the sweetie was born yet—was the best part of coming back.”
Jenna couldn’t believe that. “Honestly?”
Maggie laughed. “Scouts’ honor. Is there somewhere we can sit and visit? I’d love to learn all about how you’re doing, and if there is anything I can do for you.”
It was more than Jenna had ever expected. “There’s a patio table on the deck.”
Maggie smiled. “Perfect.”
It was perfect, but Jenna couldn’t believe it—not yet anyway. She led the way around the house and they sat down at the table on the big deck. She wasn’t sure what to talk about, but Maggie started asking questions about Over the Rainbow and Jenna relaxed. Maggie seemed like she was completely avoiding any questions about Jenna’s background. It was like she knew that Jenna wasn’t comfortable talking about it. Instead she talked about what had brought her back to town.
Jenna laughed. “You actually get to learn how to ride a horse? That’s the reason you’re here?”
“That’s the plan. I’m going to give it my best shot anyway.”
“That’s sweet. I love horses.”
“Maybe you can come out and see them one day.”
“I’d like that,” Jenna said. “I’d like that so much.”
Dear Maggie,
It’s been three years since I lost my husband. I’m fifty-two years old and my friends tell me it’s time for me to start dating again. To “get a life.” But I don’t want to. I can’t imagine ever loving someone else. But they keep pressuring me. Is there something wrong with me? They tell me I’m just scared. Do you think so? I know my husband wouldn’t want me to be alone, but . . . I just don’t feel ready. No one seems to understand. You seem like you really care. And though I was shocked to see how young you were when I saw you on Wake Up with Amanda, I feel like somehow, you have an old heart, and might be able to offer me some advice. Some hope as you always seem to do in your letters to other readers.
Thanks for your advice,
Hopeless in Central Texas
Maggie held the letter, letting the words sink into her. After a moment she placed it in a small stack of letters that had similar comments and worries. One of the letters was from a thirty-year-old widow who’d closed herself off from everyone for almost a year. Another was from an eighty-one-year-old who’d lost her husband of sixty-three years.
Maggie would answer these as a group in her column. She’d been startled by the increase in mail that she’d started receiving. Ever since they’d announced the challenge there had been an upsurge to her letters. It was encouraging and daunting seeing all those emails. There were hundreds of them.
In the end, she’d just dug in and started reading.
It took time to weed through the crazy letters, the bizarre letters, and the occasional sicko letters. But then there were letters like Hopeless in Central Texas’s. Letters that filled her with an overpowering need
to answer.
Pulling her computer near, she began to type.
Dear Hopeless in Central Texas,
Your letter touched me. I’ve received several this week where readers are feeling similar emotions. Though I’ve never been married, I can tell you that my heart is hopeful that one day I’ll feel the kind of love you and the other ladies have expressed to me in your letters. The gift of a love like this is not something to take for granted or to leave behind quickly or easily. I can only imagine the hole that must be left in your heart. My first reaction to your friends urging you to “get a life” was one of frustration. You had a life, and you have a life now . . . it may not be as full as the life you shared with your loved one, but it is still a life full of memories that you aren’t comfortable stowing away yet. Or maybe those aren’t the right words. Maybe I should say you aren’t comfortable sharing space with new memories. To me, I think you’ll know when the time is right. You, and only you, will know. Let God lead you. And when the time comes, you’ll be prepared to face the new emotions that will come with stepping out and daring to seek a new life. Though I’m young, I’ve had my own sorrows and hardships. I’ve had to sometimes push myself to make changes and to be brave and I’ve felt no shame in moving slowly as I’ve felt ready. I’ve had the support of a friend who has encouraged me without rushing me to do it in her time. Talk to your friends, explain your need of support and encouragement instead of pressure. I’m hoping you’ll become Hopeful in Central Texas . . .
Maggie stared at her answer. How she longed to be brave enough to trust her heart to a man. She prayed that one day soon she’d meet the man that she could feel comfortable trusting. Despite everything she knew to be wrong about him, her thoughts shifted instantly to Tru. Why she continued to torture herself with thoughts of him, she did not understand. She was an advice columnist for crying out loud. And her advice to herself was that he was all wrong for her. Wrong with a capital W.
Pushing those thoughts away, she picked up the next letter. It was five before she knew it. She realized she was supposed to be back at the barn for another lesson. She had a long night ahead of her if she was going to get through the rest of the emails. And she still had to write her columns. Taking a deep breath, she headed out the door. Going to see Jenna had taken some of her time, but it had been worth it.
Betting on Hope Page 10
