Betting on Hope (2 page)

The night of that play, Maggie’s life changed from bad to worse.

No, Maggie didn’t do limelight well. It brought back far too many bad memories that she was still trying hard to wipe away.

Maggie closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. She’d found out the hard way that she wasn’t meant to be in the spotlight where there were things she couldn’t control.

But none of that mattered because her bosses believed this would be good for her floundering advice column. They wanted her readers to see the person behind the column. Ha—they might discover that was a really bad idea when they saw her in front of that camera. She’d probably freeze up, throw up, or all of the above.

Stop. Just stop.

“Positive thinking here, Mags. You
will
do this and you will do this
well
.”

Pulling from the well of determination that had gotten her out of that life and into the life she had now, Maggie opened the door of her baby blue Volkswagen Bug. Fear never got her anywhere.

June heat slammed into her along with the scent of something tasty roasting inside the awful building. Okay, so at least that was a positive sign. She reached across the seat and grabbed the red high heels—bought specifically for this interview. Amanda swore they’d give her courage and confidence. Carefully, she set them on the chunky, white rocks of the parking lot and then slipped her feet into them.

She might be a lot of things, but chicken wasn’t one of them. Sure, she’d once been afraid but she’d learned to push through her fear. And that was exactly what she was going to do now.

She reached for her red leather folder—something else Amanda said worked for courage—slung her large purse over her shoulder and stood in a decisive movement of decision to give this her all. Her hand trembled as she smoothed her flowing skirt, but she ignored it, then slammed her car door and took a step toward the Bull Barn.

The rumble of a large engine had her glancing over her shoulder. A shiny, black four-wheel-drive truck whipped into the parking lot the same instant a whirlwind swept across the dusty ground. Maggie’s skirt had been swishing gently about her knees, now it caught air and attempted to do the Marilyn-Monroe-thing and fly up over her head. Maggie let go of her folder and desperately grabbed for the dancing skirt.

She managed to clamp it down just in time but dropped her folder.

“No,” she gasped as it hit the ground and the papers with Amanda’s prewritten interview questions instantly swirled up into the whirlwind like birds freed from a cage. Fumbling to gather her skirt hem in one hand, she grasped at flying pages with the other. The white gravel Texans were partial to did not get along well with her heels. She knew she was making a ridiculous spectacle of herself wobbling and tottering as she watched her interview fly into oblivion.

She couldn’t do the interview without Amanda’s questions.

Her long blonde hair swept across her eyes just as a man’s wide, tanned hand reached over her shoulder and plucked a page fluttering in front of her from the air.

“Got it,” said a deep voice as its owner stepped past her and continued to snatch pages from the air one at a time with quick, coordinated movements.

Relief surged through Maggie as she watched the long-legged cowboy swoop the last one off the ground and turn toward her. The championship-size buckle at his hips gleamed in the sunlight in competition with the white smile slashing across his face.

Oh my.

Maggie’s stomach nosedived straight to her toes.

Photos had failed to do Tru Monahan justice.

Beneath his black Stetson, the chocolate dark hair brushing his collar was richer looking, his jaw stronger, and his high cheekbones more prominent than they’d seemed on television or in the tabloids. And his eyes . . . Maggie’s breath caught when her eyes collided with his. Warm, deep, rich amber reminding her of maple syrup held up to the light. They were simply incredible—
he
was incredible.

Her ankles melted and she wobbled again when his lips shifted from the dazzling smile into the signature half grin that caused the skin around his eyes to crinkle enticingly. That expression enhanced a bunch of commercials and even appeared on a variety of equine products he endorsed.

That grin had won Tru Monahan a horde of female admirers across the country.

And Maggie was not immune. Her pulse went ballistic in response to all that dazzlement and the ground shifted—okay, so maybe that was her imagination, but she felt it nonetheless.

“I’ll carry these for you,” he said, tucking the folder beneath his arm, his expression relaxing as he focused his full attention on her. Which was a little overwhelming.

The wind fought her skirt, and her hair tickled her nose as Maggie swallowed the lump firmly situated in her windpipe. “Thank you,” she croaked—she actually croaked—
Oh, just shoot me now and be done with it
. “I’m in a bit of a bind at the moment.” Sometimes the truth was the only way to go.

His gaze drifted to her ironclad grip on her runaway skirt, which was still fighting for freedom.

“It would be my pleasure,” he drawled, his grin twitching. “Can I help you?”

Maggie just stared at him like she’d never seen a good-looking man before.

Her hair slapped her in the face—a much-needed wake-up call.

“N-no. I’m fine. Just fine,” she gathered her skirt closer and smiled stiffly while sweeping her hair out of her face with her free hand. Forcing her shoulders back, she took a couple of steps toward the restaurant, teetering dangerously on her heels once more.

Tru walked slowly beside her, his black boots crunching the rocks that were in cahoots with her shoes to do her in. After a few treacherous steps, he touched her arm. “I don’t want to get in your business, but I’m thinking maybe you should hold on to my arm before you go flying across this rock and skin’n up those pretty knees of yours.”

Maggie halted, staring at him. His Texas drawl did funny things to her insides. Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have told Amanda that she thought Tru was the best-looking male on the planet, when her friend had first mentioned interviewing the cowboy. She’d made that statement back when
Amanda
was supposed to be doing the interview.

Maybe if she’d kept her mouth shut, Amanda might not have suggested Maggie substitute for her.

Tru crooked his arm in invitation and the warmth of his gaze radiated through her.

“I’d say no,” she said, her voice annoyingly breathless. “But then I’d probably fall flat on my face, so thank you.” She slipped her arm through his and wrapped her fingers around the corded muscle of his forearm.

She felt really ridiculous clinging to her interviewee as they headed toward the porch. The man smelled like leather and sunshine and something spicy that drew her like a hummingbird to sugar water. She had to fight the urge to lean in and inhale.

When they made it to the steps, she was thrilled. “Thank you for rescuing me. I was courting disaster out there.”
And now too.

“Always glad to help a lady in distress.”

“If you’re around me too long, you’ll risk getting overworked.”

His eyes twinkled. “I definitely might have more than I can handle where you’re concerned.”

She stumbled on the step—the cowboy was
flirting
with her.

Worse—Maggie choked on a gasp—he thought
she
was flirting with him.

“P-probably not,” she assured him, stepping quickly away from him, happy to have the smooth wood porch beneath her feet and space between them. “I’m fairly boring on most days, quartz gravel and heels aside.”

He grinned at her words and monster-size butterflies did loops behind her rib cage.

“I have a feeling that’s not true.” He held out the folder with the pages he’d stuck back inside. “These are yours, I believe.”

“Thank you, again.” Maggie’s fingers grazed his as she took the folder and sparks tingled up her arm. Her cheeks burned. No doubt about it, she was the most unprofessional interviewer the
Houston Tribune
could ever have chosen for this assignment.

He pushed open the heavy door by the glass panes in the upper half. Fighting conflicting emotions, she brushed past him—being sure not to touch him. The delicious coffee-scented, cool air from the inside swept over her, soothing her heated skin
.

Coffee—that’s what she needed. A strong cup of courage
.

Safely inside, she finally dared to let go of her skirt and it swayed gently just above her knees as she glanced around. She was relieved, for a moment at least, to have something other than Tru to focus on. The film crew was set up off to the side of the diner, busy checking equipment while waiting for Amanda to come in and take charge. Only Amanda wasn’t here, and Maggie had absolutely no idea what to do. Hopefully someone else would be able to show her the way.

Tru moved to stand beside her. “Looks kind of vacant. Are you here for lunch? I think they’re holding off opening ’til after that.” He jerked his head slightly in the direction of the cameras, but said nothing about them interviewing him.

“Um, no,” Maggie said, startled by his question, only then realizing he had no idea who she was. “I’m here for the interview.”

“Oh. You’re getting interviewed too? I am, but to be honest, I’d rather be home riding my horse.”

A laugh bubbled from her. Of course he didn’t know who she was. He was expecting Amanda, and everyone knew what she looked like. “As odd as it is to believe, I’m here to interview you, Mr. Monahan.” She held out her hand and tried to look more professional than she felt. Tried to ignore the way her gaze kept wanting to stick to him like a stamp to an envelope. “Maggie Hope, filling in for Amanda Jones—she’s ill, I’m sorry to say.”

She lifted her chin, hoping to convey confidence. Of course there was an upside to the entire fiasco in the parking lot. She’d caught her skirt just in the nick of time. Otherwise, she’d have climbed back into her car and hit the road to Houston out of mortification.

At least at this point she could still look the cowboy in the eye.

Tru was losing his touch. He found himself staring into the spearmint-green eyes of the gorgeous blonde with the dimples—and a very nice set of legs. Normally he could pick a reporter out of a crowd at fifty feet—there was a certain aggression in their eyes.

Not vulnerability like he’d thought he’d seen in Maggie Hope’s eyes. He’d never seen this one coming.

This woman had none of that, and in her own words, two left feet. She’d been a mess out there. A cute mess, but a mess nonetheless.

It was hard to believe a popular show would send a reporter who looked as unprepared as this woman did to tape an interview that would be viewed by thousands. Was it an act to get him off his guard? He didn’t consider himself a big deal, but he had won the National Quarter Horse Finals again, and when you added in his unfortunate tabloid debacle, he knew he was news right now. As bad as he hated it.

And the station could send out whomever they wanted to do the interview.

“Hey, Tru.” Big Shorty, the owner of the Bull Barn, approached from the back of the diner, sauntering over with a grin on his weathered face. An old cowboy himself, there was no mistaking the teasing light in his eyes. “Any later and you’d have missed your own interview.”

Tru shook his hand. “I got held up for a moment.” He glanced at Maggie. “Besides, there’s no need getting here early for the setup. Wouldn’t want them to think I had nothing better to do.”

“We all know that ain’t the case. Just like they asked, I got folks run off till eleven o’clock, but then they’re gonna be bustin’ in here to find out about the interview.” He leaned in close. “Of course I got a couple who won’t take no for an answer, and they’re stuffed back there in the kitchen pretending they ain’t here.” He winked.

“I expected as much.” Tru was pretty sure he knew who would be eavesdropping on the interview. Clara Lyn and Reba from the Cut Up and Roll hair salon were likely doin’ a little snoopin’ for the scoop. They were lovable, but did tend to go overboard when it came to getting things firsthand. “It’s okay,” he chuckled. “I don’t care one way or the other—I’ve had snoopier people trailin’ my steps.” His sponsors had set this up and wanted him to do the interview in a local hangout. They thought it would be good PR. Besides that, the Bull Barn just sounded catchy to them. Tru hadn’t minded that at all.

Shorty was a good friend. All their lives Tru and his brothers had hung out here, listening to their granddad and his buddies tell rodeo stories.

He was more than happy to throw some good PR Shorty’s way by having the interview at his place.

“Mr. Monahan, sir,” a guy with a mike stepped from the group across the way and motioned to him. “We’re ready for you. I need to get this set up, if you don’t mind.”

Tru hiked a brow at Shorty. “Talk to you later.”

“Don’t be looking all put out over this. I see that beautiful little gal about to interview you. Maybe you should invite her to lunch when this is over.”

Five minutes ago that had been an enticing possibility, however, now that Tru knew Maggie Hope was a journalist, not a chance. His life was public enough without asking for more trouble. Been there done that.