Though Jenna had strained something in her side when she’d swung that plunger, the sharp pains had subsided and she no longer feared that she might be in labor.
Or at least she hoped she wasn’t.
Easing down the length of the cattle trailer, she kept her head down, stuffed her hands in the pockets of the bulky sweatshirt she wore, and walked from the protection of the trailer toward the building. Hopefully, if anyone saw her, they would assume she had walked up—from where she wasn’t sure, since the ragged station and convenience store looked to be out here alone at the crossroads.
Jenna followed the sidewalk along the side of the building hoping the restrooms were on the outside. The old store looked like it had been converted from a gas station way before her time, so maybe . . . yes. There was the tiny one-room restroom and it wasn’t locked. Relieved, she slipped inside and slid the bolt on the door. To her surprise, the place, despite appearing rustic on the outside, was clean—sparkled, in fact.
It was like heaven.
Jenna knew her chances of sneaking back into the bed of that truck were not good. She’d just have to figure something else out later. Right now she couldn’t resist the chance to scrub some grime off of her face and body. She sniffed the soap and closed her eyes—pure bliss . . . especially when the soap dispenser was full of that pink soap that smelled like bubble gum.
And the paper towel bin was full.
If there was one thing Jenna had learned, it was to take advantage of the good things when they came along. Because more than likely it would be a long stretch of the bad before “Mr. Goodlife” showed his head and anything good happened to her again.
Turning on the hot water, Jenna sighed with pleasure, stripped off her shirt, and draped it over the doorknob, then she filled her hand full of the bubblegum scented soap.
This was definitely one of the better things in life.
At least her life so far. She wanted more for her baby than what she had to offer, and finding the ad in the newspaper for Over the Rainbow had been exactly the miracle she’d been praying for. When she’d gone to the library and looked it up on the Internet she’d known this was where she could find help for her baby.
It had to be a good place. It just had to be.
She couldn’t believe anything else.
Jenna held tight to the idea that if she could just get to the home at Wishing Springs everything was going to be okay. She just needed to get there.
Two miles from the Bull Barn, Maggie was still seething over the interview when she spotted a teenage girl walking slowly, haltingly, down the shoulder of the road. She was small and wore a bulky sweatshirt, but something about the way she walked, kind of a waddle, had Maggie believing that the girl was pregnant. The kid’s face was beet red and she held one hand pressed to her side, like she had a catch in it.
What was the girl doing all the way out here?
As she drove by the girl, Maggie continued to watch her in the rearview. Saw her turn as if to watch Maggie pass her by with a look so lost and alone that icy fingers of the past grasped Maggie’s heart, squeezing tight, sending a chilling ache through her. Maggie had once been a teenage girl lost and alone needing help. Her foot had already stepped to the brake, when suddenly the girl bent forward, then crumpled into herself and sank to the ground.
Maggie’s foot slammed hard on the brake, tires screeching. Images of herself alone, in trouble, and in need crashed into her with the force of her foot on the brake. Spinning the car around in a sharp U-turn, her heart racing, Maggie pulled to a halt on the shoulder not far from the young woman.
The girl had not passed out, and was watching her from where she sat. It crossed Maggie’s mind that this could easily be a setup, a scam, but she couldn’t think about that right now. Her gut told her this kid needed help.
“Hi,” Maggie called, jumping out of the car and hurrying toward the girl. Thankfully there was no quartz gravel anywhere to be seen, and so she could actually move without breaking her leg. “Can I help you?”
The girl had curly brown hair, the kind of curls that were big and loopy and sprang out haphazardly around her face. Her eyes, huge pools of green, looked dull with pain. She couldn’t be more than sixteen—seventeen at the most. Maggie was thankful she’d stopped.
“I’d tell you that I didn’t need any help, but that would be a lie, and I’m trying to cut back on them.”
Her dry wit made Maggie smile. “Then I’m here to help. I’m Maggie,” she said, crouching down beside the kid.
“Jenna,” the teen managed and gritted her teeth at the same time.
“Where do you hurt, Jenna? You’re pregnant, right?”
Jenna nodded. “I’m not having contractions, I don’t think.” She closed her eyes, her soft brown brows meeting in the middle as she fought off the pain before looking back at Maggie. “I’ve had a long twenty-four hours.”
There was defeat in Jenna’s voice and Maggie got the feeling this girl didn’t often let strangers or anyone see this side of her. That had Maggie all the more determined to help her.
“Here, let’s get you in the car. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No.”
Her cry was so sharp Maggie froze. “Okay. So what do you want to do?”
“I have to get to this place.” She dug a neatly folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Maggie.
“It’s a home for pregnant girls. I need to get there before I go anywhere. They can help me.”
“But I’m worried you need help now.” Maggie took the paper and had to tear her gaze from the fierce plea of Jenna’s eyes. Help me they cried silently.
“If you’re not taking me there, then I’ll wait right here till someone who will stops to help me,” Jenna said, grit filling her eyes and her voice.
The paper turned out to be a newspaper clipping with a picture of a house and an address for a home for unwed mothers, Over the Rainbow. The address was here in Wishing Springs.
Looking at it, Maggie made a decision. “Okay, then let’s get you in the car and we’ll plug this in my GPS and get you there pronto.”
Relief washed over Jenna’s expression. “You’re not just telling me that, are you?”
Maggie’s heart clutched. How badly had this girl been hurt in her life? “I wouldn’t lie to you. I promise.”
“Then help a poor whale up.”
Maggie chuckled and placed her hands beneath Jenna’s arms, spread her high-heeled feet wide for stability, and with Jenna’s help they heaved her to a standing position.
“Whew. I thought I was down for the count on that one.”
The girl had humor. “Naw. You’re made of tough stuff. You’d have gotten up and walked to this place if I hadn’t shown up.”
They were almost to her car now and Maggie pulled the door open and Jenna sank into the soft cream leather seat.
“This is so nice,” she sighed, snuggling back against the seat.
Maggie noticed she looked pale and hurried to get to her side and plug the address into the GPS. It came up, and to her happy surprise, the home wasn’t too far down the road. “Did you know you were this close?”
“An old man working at the gas station back there told me it wasn’t too far.”
Maggie put the car in gear and did another U-turn to head back down the road. “How did you get out here? Did you hitchhike?” The very idea horrified Maggie.
Trepidation filled Jenna’s eyes, reminding Maggie again of the uncertainty she’d felt at that age after she’d fled one of her mother’s boyfriends for the last time and knew she was better off striking out on her own rather than being a sitting duck in the apartment with her mom. Maggie had lived with her mother’s disdain all of her life. Knowing she’d been unwanted from birth had always been something Maggie was aware of from the first moments that she could recall. That knowledge had helped Maggie finally realize that leaving was her best option because there would be no protection from her mother. Especially
when she was doped up and partying. No help. No sympathy. And so Maggie’s only choice had been to run away. She shut down the flood of memories and focused on the girl.
Jenna looked her way after a few beats of silence. “I got someone I know to take me to a truck stop, and I listened to conversations in the diner till I heard someone talk about heading this direction. I had watched what trucks they’d gotten out of, so then I tried to find a way to ride. When I found a truck going the right direction, I’d stow away till the next stop.”
Cringing, Maggie imagined this pregnant girl fending for herself. There was more to the story, she could see it in her face, but she didn’t press. She’d just met Jenna; it didn’t matter that when she looked into her eyes, she felt like she’d known her all of her life.
The GPS signaled the next driveway was the one they were looking for.
Turning onto the long drive, they headed toward the pretty house that sat at the top of the hill.
It was the same as the advertisement.
Jenna had held her side the whole ride, and a glance her way confirmed that she was silently enduring pain. Maggie was thankful they were here. She pulled to a halt in front of the house.
“I’ll go see if there’s anyone home,” she offered and pushed open her door, almost tripping over herself hurrying to get out. Truth was, Maggie didn’t know much about having a baby. She was twenty-five and hardly ever had the opportunity to hold a baby, much less change a diaper or know how to take care of a pregnant woman—or girl in this case.
She needed help and she needed it now.
That didn’t mean she didn’t have a hopeful heart about kids, though. Maggie wanted kids. A whole houseful of the little darlings so she could love on them and be loved by them. Nothing in this world was sweeter to Maggie than that dream. Only problem was, she was going to have to find a man who could give them to her, and that was the hard part. First she had to find one she could let herself trust. And trust didn’t come easy for Maggie.
Even with her runaway thoughts and in her rush up the sidewalk, Maggie noticed the red geraniums filling pots beside the door, welcoming visitors to Over the Rainbow. This appeared to be a welcoming place. She pushed the doorbell and glanced back at the car. Jenna had gotten out and was standing beside the door holding onto the doorframe as she bent slightly, obviously in pain. Maggie feared she should have rushed the kid to the hospital. Now no one was going to be here and Maggie could just see herself having to deliver a baby right there in the grass.
“Come on. Open. Pleas—” the door opened and there was a woman standing there. “Yes. Thank you. I have a friend, a girl I picked up on the road, and she was coming here and—” Maggie pointed toward Jenna. The woman moved forward and stared out the door. “She’s in pain and insisted I bring her here.”
“Mother,” the woman, not more than thirty, called over her shoulder as she wasted no time and jogged down the sidewalk to Jenna.
Maggie felt totally and completely useless as she watched the woman put her arm around Jenna and help her up the path. Another woman, older, yet still small and brisk, rushed from the house and jumped on the other side of Jenna, asking medical questions. Jenna answered her, meeting Maggie’s gaze as she shuffled by. Maggie stood in the doorway, not certain what to do, feeling like an intruder now. After all, she’d only driven Jenna here.
“Don’t go,” Jenna called, looking over her shoulder.
Maggie’s heart lurched in her chest and she fought back tears. “I’m stickin’ like glue,” she said, giving a shaky smile and stepping inside the doorway. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
Jenna smiled weakly as she disappeared through another doorway, and that tight smile touched Maggie all the way to the darkest corner of her heart. To the spot where the little girl inside of her hid—the scared little girl who had longed to hear someone say those words to her so long ago.
But no one ever had.
4
The knowledge that she might have dumped her career down the drain made for a sleepless night, that and thinking about Jenna. The girl hadn’t had the baby and she was in good hands. Peg and Lana Garwood, a wonderful mother and daughter team, ran Over the Rainbow.
Peg looked like she was in her late forties. She was a nurse practitioner/midwife and reminded Maggie of Sally Fields, a pretty brunette, trim and obviously feisty—she took charge of the situation immediately. Lana, her daughter, was a counselor and looked to be in her early thirties—which, if Maggie’s age assumptions were correct, meant that Peg had been a teenage mother herself. They ran the shelter/home with love and a mission. By the time Maggie had driven away with a promise to call back and check on Jenna, she’d felt good about the girl’s situation. Of course she didn’t know much more about Jenna than she had upon picking her up off the side of the road, but she still sensed a kindred spirit. She’d felt good and hopeful for the girl as she’d headed back to Houston.
But as the miles had ticked away, the reality of her situation came racing back to Maggie—she’d done a terrible interview and really had no idea what this meant for her career.
By morning, if she could have, she would have hidden in her apartment for the rest of her life. Instead, she was standing in line at the coffee shop around the corner from the Tribune office getting a cup of courage before heading in.
She’d been summoned.
It was going to take a double shot of caffeine to help her face the inevitable disappointment of all of her superiors.
The coffee shop was hopping today. Maggie stood with her back to the wide-screen television over in the seating area. Many of the regulars sat and drank their coffee and ate their muffins as they watched Wake Up with Amanda. Maggie never had time or the inclination to sit in the busy place, preferring solitude to do her writing.
The line moved forward and the lady beside her tugged her arm.
“Isn’t that you?”
“Excuse me?” Maggie said, not understanding.
“There.” The lady pointed to the flat-screen TV.
Maggie gasped. The interview she’d done with Tru Monahan was playing. No.
“It is you,” the lady declared accusingly, then spun back to watch the interview.
It was playing the part where Tru was holding her hand. Maggie’s stomach dropped to her knees. They were showing the entire interview.
Other people had begun to look at her. Herb, the man behind the counter who had been serving her coffee almost every day for the last year, did a double take.
“Hey, Maggie, you’re on TV.”
“Yeah,” she laughed, backing out of the door. “Gotta run,” she called, and set out for the office at a fast clip. What was going on? There had been a mistake. There was no other reason they would show that entire interview otherwise.
She caught the elevator and tapped her foot anxiously waiting for the fourth floor. The doors had barely opened when her boss spotted her from across the expansive office from her doorway. “Maggie,” she rasped, waving her over.
Now in her sixties, Helen Davenport had smoked like a train all of her life and just recently given up the habit. It was a little too late for her skin, which was as wrinkled as a Shar Pei’s and her voice was as raspy as gravel in a mixer.
“My office. Now.”
Her steps faltering, Maggie wove through the cubicles feeling all eyes on her as she went. This was it. There had been some horrible mistake. She’d now embarrassed the newspaper and the network.
Ms. Davenport closed the door after she’d entered and then hurried to take her seat behind her very large desk. “Sit, sit,” she said absently, waving Maggie to one of the two pale blue chairs across from her. She was all smiles—that alone was scary. Helen Davenport rarely smiled.
Maggie sank into the first chair; it was easy since she felt like she’d swallowed a case of horseshoes. She attempted a weak smile, but said nothing. What could she say?
“So, that was some interview.”
“About that—I’
m so sorry.”
“Sorry? Are you kidding me? We all thought the bet you threw out for Tru was pure genius. The station is so excited they aired it this morning. Did you catch it? The phones are buzzing with requests to see Tru Monahan teach you to ride a Quarter Horse.”
Maggie hadn’t gotten much past the genius statement. Were they kidding? “But, I was just rattled, and blurted that out because I’d be hopeless on a horse.”
“That’s what I love about you, Maggie, you never boast. You sell yourself short every time. Let me give you a word of advice. In this business, being humble gets you nowhere. Actions speak louder than words, and yesterday you spoke volumes. You’re a hit. Well done.”
“But, I don’t understand.”
Ms. Davenport’s crinkled red lips spread wider. “What’s there to not understand? This is a win-win situation. This will help your column, because you are going to write about your experience weekly. You’ll document as you go and still give some advice. But don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of space, because we are going to allot an extra slot for a continuing progress report. You and the paper win with better ratings, the station wins with the publicity this is garnering and the follow-up special they’ll air in the end, and Tru Monahan’s sponsors will win because of the advertising spotlight this will put on them.”
“While I do what?” Dread formed like a lead rock in the pit of Maggie’s stomach. She wanted to be completely confused about what her boss was talking about, but the more she’d talked the clearer the picture had become. “You surely aren’t expecting to follow up on this bet? It was a silly blunder. He would never agree to this.”
“Don’t look so bewildered.” Helen Davenport stopped smiling, her eyes narrowed. “He’ll have no choice but to agree. Just as you have no choice, Maggie. This is golden. You will go there and you’ll go there for two months. I’ll spell your assignment out clearly. You’ll write a weekly article on the town or your training—anything that will grab the reader’s attention. You’ll find some interesting angle and hopefully give us some juicy insider info on this cowboy for our female readers.”
Betting on Hope Page 4