Betting on Hope (17 page)

“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.

“Oh, my,” Reba said, her voice hushed.

“I’ve never seen Pebble that mad before.” Clara Lyn’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a good sign.”

“A good sign? If she’d been a rocket she’d be to the moon by now.”

“Reba, think about it. Yes, she is embarrassed. Yes, he’s fond of the bottle and she’s a teetotaler—wouldn’t touch a drop if it was all there was to drink and she was lost in the desert. But I don’t think she would be that mad if she didn’t care a little. Do you?”

“You know,” Reba drummed her fingernails on her manicure table, looking thoughtful. “You just might be right.”

Clara Lyn grinned. “I think it bears some thought. And Rand does need to get his act together. What kind of example is he setting? This is gettin’ out of control.”

“Maybe we need to speak to someone—”

“Doonie’s his best friend,” Reba said. “He’s also the mayor and Rand is on the city council. As citizens we need to voice our opinion. We could complain to the preacher too. You know, for Rand’s own good.”

“Reba, I’m sure that Doonie and Doobie and the preacher all know. The problem is, I think we all need to get together on this and do one of those interventions. I was watching one of them on a TV reality show the other night. This guy’s friends and family got together and planned a hijacking of him. They just all got together and confronted him. What do you think? It never hurts to be the one to squirt the first grease on a wheel and get it to squeakin’.”

Reba stared at her. “That does not make a lick of sense but I know what you’re saying. And I agree.”

Clara Lyn felt better. “Then let’s get to greasin’.”

Maggie got her first column about Wishing Springs in by the Friday noon deadline. She pressed send at exactly 11:49 a.m. She actually loved the piece. It was a get-to-know-the-town article and it made her smile. She celebrated with a cup of green tea.

The fact that Tru had an exhibition on Friday and left early Thursday morning had worked for her. She needed a break from him.

Every day she was around him was a day of more conflicting emotions.

She had some letters to answer and then she was heading out to Over the Rainbow. When she’d been there earlier in the week, she’d been invited to come eat spaghetti and hang out this afternoon. She’d promised to come if she could. At the time, she hadn’t been sure of her riding schedule. Or whether she would meet her deadline. She also hadn’t known Tru was going to be out of town and that she’d get caught up because of it.

And she hadn’t known just how much she was going to want to go back and see everyone. Especially Jenna. The girl was about as brave as they got as far as Maggie was concerned.

When she arrived, there were several cars parked in the driveway. Almost like they were having a party.

Turned out they were.

“Hey, Maggie, you came,” Jenna called from the deck as Maggie rounded the corner of the house. She’d learned that most people used the back door.

“I sure did. I got my columns written and Tru is out of town, so no riding this evening. What’s going on?”

“It’s game day. There are a group of older ladies in there from town. They come out and teach us things, like cooking or knitting and then we play a bunch of board games. Today, Ms. Hanover is teaching a couple of the gals how to knit. I’m all thumbs where that’s concerned.”