Betting on Hope

by Debra Clopton

  “Whoa, fella,” Tru said, relieved when he had his grip firmly on the reins. Now to focus on Maggie.

  She was hung over his arm like a sack of potatoes, helpless since one foot still rested on the saddle and one knee was hooked inside the stirrup. He looked down at her and caught her looking up at him with narrow eyes.

  “So, I don’t know much, but I’m guessing this isn’t exactly good.”

  By the time Tru got her disengaged from the stirrup, Maggie had started to feel like a complete disaster. How had she done that? Tru said she’d gotten overzealous with her leg swing, and on the next go-round, maybe a little more caution was in order. Of course she was trying to focus on helping herself get untangled, but she kept getting distracted by the feel of his arms wrapped securely around her. Oddly, she realized she wasn’t scared or worried that Stardust was going to run away with her. It had absolutely nothing to do with trusting the horse. She simply knew that while Tru held her, she was okay. That probably had something to do with watching him with his Pops the day before.

  When her feet were finally planted on the ground again, she felt a little weak in the knees and had a hard time disengaging her fingers from their death grip on his shoulders—his very broad, firm shoulders.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. He studied her with his hands planted on his hips—probably wondering how a woman her age could possibly have two left feet like she did. It was perplexing for Maggie herself, let alone anyone else.

  “Oh, I’m fine. Just fine.” She waved off his question. “Thanks to you.”

  “Good, then let’s try it again.”

  She shot him a glare. “No way. Not after that. I think I’ll head home and answer some emails. Get my sea legs back under me.”

  He chuckled. “We’re about a hundred and fifty miles from salt water.”

  She scowled. “You know exactly what I’m saying.”

  “And I think you should get back in the saddle.”

  “I was never in the saddle.”

  “Maggie, it was an easy mistake.” He reached to take her hand and she stepped back.

  “Nope. Not tonight. See you in the morning.” She didn’t wait to argue, but headed for the exit instead. The cowboy had no clue that this was as much about getting away from him and catching her breath as it was about not getting on Stardust.

  At the moment the horse was the least of her worries.

  12

  Maggie was in serious jeopardy of letting Tru past her guard.

  “Wait up.”

  His voice brought her to a halt before she reached her car. “You are not getting out of this that easy. We have a deadline, and if you quit that easy, then we are in trouble.”

  She glared at him. He might be right, but at the moment she didn’t care. All she could think about right now was throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him.

  Her face burned hot thinking about it, and she knew she was probably the color of an overripe plum. This cowboy loved-’em and left-’em faster than she could blink, and at the moment she didn’t care. “I don’t want to get on the horse right now.”

  He crossed his arms and planted his boots wide and just studied her. “Why are you getting red?”

  “I’m embarrassed. Wouldn’t you be?” True, but stretching it.

  “Look, I get that you’re a little clumsy sometimes. But I’ve got to say that I’m a little surprised how easy you give up. Especially after I read your column.”

  “You read my column?”

  “Last week’s. It was my first, I have to admit. But, Maggie, you gave sound advice to that woman who asked whether to settle for the deadbeat dude she was dating or to move on. How did you put it? To ‘open your horizons in the hope of finding another man who will appreciate you.’ ” He grinned and Maggie’s insides turned all gooey.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. I was smiling when I finished reading what you said. I also noted that you didn’t tell her to leave the deadbeat, but I’m pretty certain that after reading your words of encouragement, she and any other women out there who were settling would totally know that you were advocating moving.”

  “I can’t believe you read it.” She really couldn’t.

  “I was curious. Wanted to see what all of this is about.”

  Maggie thought about the woman he was speaking of. “I hope she moved on,” she said, wistfully. “She deserved so much better.”

  “Yes, she did. Now, let me ask you what you would tell someone who wrote in about how to handle being clumsy. Would you tell them it was okay to just give up?”

  Maggie sighed. She had walked right into his trap. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  He stepped back and waved toward the barn. “After you.”

  Her nails dug into her palms and her feet resisted, but no matter how much she didn’t need to be around him at the moment, she didn’t have a choice. “Fine.” She hiked her chin and marched past him. He chuckled and fell into step behind her.

  This bet was getting harder by the instant. Two months. She had to make it two months and not fall under the spell of the man she knew was a female magnet. The tabloids had said it was true. Why at the National Finals Rodeo last year there were reports that two women actually got into a catfight over him. There was a picture on the front page of the thing that showed them fighting and him walking away.

  And there were other stories floating around out there too. Maybe not so wild, but they were out there about him churning through a slew of women. The man was movie star good-looking, and it was reported that he’d been asked to star in some romantic western movie too. And she completely understood why.

  But that was all the more reason for her to stay back. She had had her share of heartache where men were concerned. Maybe it was because of her mixed-up childhood, who knew why, but the few times she’d dated—despite how careful she was—she’d picked real jerks. But she still held out hope that she was going to find a good man one day. Someday she wanted to fall in love. She wanted kids and lots of them and the man she planned to let father her babies would not come from a background with even a hint of womanizing.

  Nope, her man, and he would be her man, would be everything a real man was supposed to be. He would not be on the cover of a national gossip rag next to two women fighting over him.

  Or any of the other things she’d heard.

  No matter how much that man’s touch or smile sent her insides to rioting and pulse to galloping.

  “Okay, this time, easy with the leg. Nice and smooth, okay?”

  Maggie gave him a where-would-you-like-me-to-kick-you look and then took a deep breath and reached for the saddle horn. She did as he’d shown her, but this time she was very careful with her long leg. He hid a smile as she gently swung it over Stardust’s back and she eased just as gently down into the saddle.

  Her shoulders sagged in visible relief, but she shot him a scathing look that only made him want to chuckle more. She was a hardheaded woman and that was for certain. She was determined not to let him forget that he’d basically goaded her into getting back in the saddle.

  So be it. He was a big boy. He could take it.

  What he couldn’t have taken was if she’d fallen out of the saddle again and into his arms.

  Nope, this was much better.

  “That’s real good. Now, you just hang onto the saddle horn, hold your back straight, shoulders back, and settle into that seat. I’m going to lead you around the round pen.”

  “Go for it. I’ll just hang around up here until you say I can go home.”

  “Fine.” He shot her a don’t-push-your-luck glare and led Stardust toward the round pen. What, did she think she was the only one all of this was affecting?

  He looked over his shoulder. Maggie moved in the seat well. She might not realize what she was doing, but she’d adapted to the feel of the horse and was riding pretty smoothly. Some folks would have been bouncing all over the place. She might not be as hard to teach as she belie
ved.

  “You’re sitting the horse good. You will do fine in the competition when we get to that point.” He’d almost let her wonder if she was doing good or not but decided telling her was the best thing. There was no need to stretch out this afternoon feud any longer if at all possible.

  “I just got on the horse and I’m terrified. How can you possibly tell that?”

  “Hey, give me some credit here. I can just tell.”

  She gave a nervous laugh and he glanced over his shoulder to see the death grip she had on the horn.

  “Relax, Maggie. Stop tensing up. I’ve got Stardust and he’s not going to go anywhere except in this circle I’m leading him in.”

  He led the way around the circle pen, letting her get more comfortable with the feel of the horse. She struggled to relax and he knew she just needed time.

  “So, how did you get the gig as the ‘Gotta Have Hope’ gal?” He wanted to ease her nerves, but he was curious too. She was riding like he’d told her—stiff, but following instructions. “Not everyone would give sound advice. You answered four questions last week and you gave great advice of the heart.”

  “I try. I worry over each answer. I don’t want to take a decision of the heart for granted. There are too many factors to evaluate. I believe we all hold the key to our happiness in our own hands. I try to figure out ways to empower my readers in my answers. I try to take the power out of the other person’s hands and put it into my reader’s hands.”

  He looked up and she smiled at him. A jolt rocked him like an earthquake. He realized keeping her mad at him might have been the best choice.

  “So, how did you get this gig as the writer of this column?” he asked again, unable to stop himself.

  “Amanda.” She shifted in the seat and pushed her shoulders back a little as she looked off into the distance. He concentrated on walking Stardust in an easy pace around the round pen. There was something about the rhythmic movement of a horse’s gait that could a lull a person—maybe that was why Maggie was opening up some.

  “I met Amanda when I was at a very hard spot in my life. She invited me to move into the extra bedroom of her apartment.” She paused and he glanced at her to see a lost look in her eyes. She gave a tiny shrug. “I really don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I needed her help.”

  “I promise this won’t be going anywhere else. I’m glad she helped you. Then what?” He couldn’t believe she was opening up to him either. But he was glad.

  “I ended up being her roommate for a few years while I went to school. Long story short, the paper was looking for some kind of advice column and she got a wild brainstorm about my name and pitched ‘Gotta Have Hope’ to them without my knowledge. After they liked it, she came to me with the job offer. She said my attitude of always trying to find some hope in everything inspired her. And that’s how I got this.”

  He was trying to read between the lines. There were a lot of blank spots in her story that had him wanting to know more. Did the low spot she was talking about have anything to do with why she didn’t trust easily?

  Clara Lyn stared at Pebble Hanover. Pebble owned the Sweet Dreams Motel, and had since she and her husband, God rest his soul, had bought it twenty years ago. She’d run that motel for the last ten years all by herself after Cecil fell off the roof during a thunderstorm.

  Pebble was nice and sweet as they came—a bit too prim for her own good as far as Clara Lyn was concerned, but to each his own. Clara wasn’t going to rain on her parade just because they had a different set of priorities.

  But Clara figured she was having a whole, whole lot more fun than Pebble. She told Pebble that at least once every week, and right now was that time.

  “Pebble, you need to loosen up. You’ve got knots the size of bowling balls between those shoulder blades of yours.”

  The thing was, she hadn’t always been such a stickler. Oh, she hadn’t ever been relaxed-relaxed, per se. But after Cecil had his accident, she’d gotten worse. Like a bolt tightened by a power tool. It wasn’t healthy.

  Still, she was the prettiest sixty-five-year-old woman Clara Lyn knew. And every single older man in town had tried his hand at asking her out—not a lot of good it did them. Pebble refused to date. Eventually, they all gave up and left her to her widowhood, though it was surely with great regret.

  Everyone, that is, except that handsome scoundrel Rand Radcliff. Back in the day when they’d all been in school, Rand, the rebel of the group, had had a thing for Pebble. Much like Danny and Sandy from the movie Grease . . . Clara just loved that movie, but Danny got the girl in the end of the movie, while Rand did not. No, though Pebble and Rand had had their good-girl/bad-boy fling, Pebble had walked away and married the class president and lived happily ever after. Until he fell off the roof. Pebble had always seemed as happy as could be over the years.

  Rand, on the other hand, had gone to college and come back to Wishing Springs and lived his life never quite settled. Though he’d changed and even eventually taken his seat on the city council, he had never married, and after Cecil’s death he’d begun to change in many ways as it became apparent he was still sweet on Pebble after all those years.

  The city councilman was nice-looking himself, he’d aged well and everyone knew that he had a crush as big as the Pacific on Pebble. It had become a weekly thing for her to turn down his offer of a date. Why, the moonstruck man sent flowers repeatedly over the years and he was dedicated to her—whether she wanted him to be or not.

  Pebble, being the sweet person that she was, remained kind to him, but she continually insisted she was not interested in a relationship this late in her life.

  But when there were events and festivals and such, he was always near, watching out for her. Everyone knew that Rand still loved Pebble.

  The town bad boy was caught in a web of unrequited love.

  And it was not good for him.

  Clara Lyn knew this, as did everyone else. They’d been watching him deteriorate because of it with more and more drinking. It was causing him all kinds of misery and Pebble was at her wit’s end. But Clara Lyn wasn’t sure what to tell her friend. A person couldn’t just jump off into someone else’s personal business—not something like this. A drinking problem was not something to take lightly. And a relationship with a drinker was like waiting for dynamite to explode.

  “What do you mean he had to be escorted home from the grocery store?” Pebble was looking at Clara Lyn with dismay. “Not again.”

  “I’m afraid so. That is what I heard from Dorothy Simpson. She heard it from her grandson, you know, the cute teenager who works there. He said Rand came in staggering and ran right into the green beans on lane two. Said they went everywhere.”

  “No,” Pebble gasped, the blood draining from her face as she fidgeted with the baby blanket she’d been knitting for one of the Over the Rainbow residents.

  “It’s true,” Reba joined in, worry lighting her eyes as she studied Pebble. “He’s been in a bad way ever since—” she paused. “Well, you know. Since he got drunk at Sadie and Malcom’s fiftieth wedding anniversary and embarrassed you so much.”

  Pebble stiffened, her dainty mouth quivered, and her cheeks blushed pink gaining back a little cotton-candy coloring. “He had no right to do that. No right to embarrass me like that.”

  Clara Lyn slapped a hand to her hip. “He didn’t have a right, but he sure enough did it. Taking over that mike and singing—or trying to sing—you a love song was a little over the top. What was that song?”

  “How in the world could you forget something like that?” Reba declared, horror written on her face. “When a drunk man tries to sing a Whitney Houston version of a Dolly Parton song, no one forgets. I have never, and I mean never, recovered from hearing ‘I Will Always Love You’ sung that way.”

  Clara Lyn shot Reba a warning. Yes, she too, still suffered from nightmares because of that night but . . . “I’m tryin’ to be encouragin’ here, Reba.”

  Reba
huffed. “Well, excuse me for livin’. I only speak the truth. Sorry, Pebble.”

  Clara Lyn just could not help herself any longer. “Pebble, the truth is you need to move on. Cecil’s been gone a long time. He’d want you to be happy. And I, for one, think you harbor some deep feelings toward Rand. There, I said it.”

  Pebble looked horrified now.

  “Clara Lyn,” Reba gasped. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “What just happened to you speaking the truth? You know you believe the same thing.”

  Pebble started tossing her baby blanket in the bag. “And why would you think that? I’ve never been drunk a day in my life. What would I do with a man who gets drunk on a regular basis?”

  Clara Lyn and Reba exchanged glances. Pebble had a point, but still, that didn’t change what they both believed. Clara sighed. “Now, don’t go getting all upset. You did have that thing for him in high school. Back before you married Cecil. Everyone knows it.”

  Her cheeks went from cotton-candy pink to Maraschino-cherry red. Pebble didn’t say anything, just kept scooting her baby blanket into the knitting bag along with the needles.

  “Maybe you could help him,” Clara Lyn said.

  Pebble snapped her bag shut and stood. “I have told him that I will never welcome the affections of a man who drinks. And that did not help the situation. It is obvious that he feels stronger about his bottle than he does about anything, including me. You are mistaken, Clara Lyn Conway. Why, stumbling around in the grocery store—it’s, it’s a disgrace.”

  Before Clara Lyn or Reba could say anything, Pebble marched to the shop door, bag in hand and with a decisive tug, the door swooshed shut behind her leaving the Cut Up and Roll in silence.