Read Online Betting on Hope by Debra Clopton - Free Book Online Page A

room it was a wonder the bed wasn’t hovering.
    Yanking up the bedspread, Maggie found herself staring at—not a puppy, but the fattest Basset Hound she’d ever seen.
    Why, the dog was wedged between the bed and the floor as if the bed had been dropped on top of it. How had it squeezed in there?
    “Baby,” the frail man said, now that he’d finally managed to get to the floor.
    The term sounded so heartfelt that it tugged at Maggie’s gut. His gaze reached out to her, pleading. Something wasn’t right with this picture. To look at the man you would think he was fine, but his reactions were not right. Could this be dementia? Not that she had much contact with it. Whatever it was, the man needed help.
    “It’s okay,” she urged, patting his arm. “I’ll get you your baby.”
    The dog was now really wailing and yelping like she was poking it with a prod or something. It sounded like it was in agony. The man looked as if he were about to cry. Maggie didn’t think twice. She dropped to her belly and scooted under the bed.
    She sneezed three times in a row from the dust, causing the dog to scream more—just what she needed. She wedged herself under the bed to get to it. She grunted—not sure who was going to get her out and even more uncertain how she was going to get the plump Bassett Hound free. How had he gotten under here? Crawled under with the hindquarter of a buffalo and then eaten it? Or eaten a whole one?
    “Hey, pooch, calm down,” she urged, her rump scraping the bed frame as she moved deeper into the shadowy depths. The dog’s eyes, white saucers of terror, glared at her.
    She sneezed again and the pooch wailed louder. Now almost even with the animal, Maggie inched a little farther under, a tight squeeze for her hips.
    “Come on.” She reached out to the dog—not her smartest move. Second only to her crawling under the bed. The moment her fingers got close enough, the pooch hauled off and took a bite out of her.
    “Ouch!” Maggie jerked sideways, she was so shocked. She was bleeding. The dog growled and suddenly she feared it might be able to come after her now that she was stuck.
    Stuck—Maggie grunted and tried to budge, but when she twisted sideways she wedged her shoulders more tightly between the bed and the floor.
    “Come on,” she gasped, wriggling, trying to budge. There was no use. Her shoulders hurt.
    “Maggie?”
    The familiar drawl sent a shot of warmth spreading through her. Hope flared and a fiery adrenaline hit every nerve ending in a euphoric rush.
    Gripping her bleeding hand, she cocked her head so that she could see Tru. He stared at her from where he’d crouched down beside her feet. He placed his hand on her ankles and she forgot to breathe.
    “Looks like you’re having problems,” he said, as if she was having trouble tying her shoelace instead of being wedged under the bed like a pig in a blanket.
    “Hi.” It was the only thing that popped into her brain. It wasn’t lost to her that for the second time they’d met, she was in a crazy fix.
    “What are you doing?” he asked, that oh-so-amazing grin on his face.
    Only then did she realize the dog had stopped its incessant noise. She was getting past the wave of heat that had hit her—adjusting to his touch and the throbbing of her hand was responsible for that. “Um, I crawled under here to help this, this ungrateful mutt because your grandfather was upset. And it bit me. And now I’m stuck.”
    She glanced at her hand. She was holding it tightly to her chest. Blood oozed from the throbbing doggy-teeth-shaped wound in the flesh of the meaty part of her hand below her thumb.
    “Solomon bit you?” Tru banged his head on the underside of the bed as he tried to see her hand better.
    “Yes, and I’m stuck,” she said, grumpily.
    “Hang on,” he snapped, then stood.
    All she could see were his scuffed cowboy boots and jeans so faded they looked as soft as silk. He moved to the end of the bed where she