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The Maverick Fakes A Bride!
Christine Rimmer
Do You Take This (Faux) Fiancée?All the single ladies in Rust Creek Falls know Travis Dalton. And they all know the sexy, rascally rancher is not the marrying kind. So how is it that our town's most notorious bachelor has wound up engaged on a Western reality TV show?We here at the Gazette are pleased The Great Roundup has chosen our hometown heartbreaker as a contestant. And we are definitely rooting for Travis's unexpected union with childhood friend Brenna O'Reilly, the one girl we believe can keep this cowboy on his toes. But is it true this betrothal is strictly a fabrication for the cameras? Pass the popcorn, dear readers. We suspect this made-for-TV romance could be headed straight for a Hollywood happy ending!


Do You Take This (Faux) Fiancée?
Rust Creek Ramblings
All the single ladies in Rust Creek Falls know Travis Dalton. And they all know the sexy, rascally rancher is not the marrying kind. So how is it that our town’s most notorious bachelor has wound up engaged on a Western reality TV show?
We here at the Gazette are pleased The Great Roundup has chosen our hometown heartbreaker as a contestant. And we are definitely rooting for Travis’s unexpected union with childhood friend Brenna O’Reilly, the one girl we believe can keep this cowboy on his toes. But is it true this betrothal is strictly a fabrication for the cameras? Pass the popcorn, dear readers. We suspect this made-for-TV romance could be headed straight for a Hollywood happy ending!
“We’re not giving up now,” Brenna said. “Don’t even think it.”
“But are you…?”
“We are doing this.” Her eyes had stars in them. “And we are taking home the prize.”
“Brenna…” She smelled of flowers and fresh-cut grass. Travis really wanted to kiss her.
“Do it,” she whispered, clearly reading his mind. “We need to do it. How can we pretend that we’re headed for forever when you’ve never even put your lips on mine?”
Was she right? Did he really need to kiss her to make their fake relationship seem real? All he could think was that he’d never kissed her—and he had to kiss her.
He lowered his head a fraction closer and she surged up.
His mouth touched hers.
With a sigh, she let go of his shirtfront. Her hands slid up to clasp the back of his neck. “Travis…” She stroked his nape with her soft fingers as she whispered his name, kissing it onto his lips.
So good. So right. She tasted of honey, of ripe summer fruit—peaches and blackberries, watermelon. Cherries. She tasted of promises, sweet hopes and big dreams. She tasted of home.
Someone yelled, “Kiss her, cowboy!”
Neither Travis nor Brenna paid their hecklers any mind. The brims of their hats collided. His fell and then hers. Neither of them cared.
* * *
Montana Mavericks:
The Great Family Roundup—
Real cowboys and real love in Rust Creek Falls!
The Maverick Fakes a Bride!
Christine Rimmer


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. She tried everything from acting to teaching to telephone sales. Now she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly. She insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine lives with her family in Oregon. Visit her at www.christinerimmer.com (http://www.christinerimmer.com).
For MSR,
always.
Contents
Cover (#u2a44dc3a-2775-5f28-99fa-48d0605e90d1)
Back Cover Text (#u70c007fe-ccb2-59a7-8503-d93bca9f619c)
Introduction (#uca41e573-b15e-569a-811e-c1afa2684f90)
Title Page (#u6de701f7-4195-5e83-aa79-b0ba508d0077)
About the Author (#u4ba902a0-4f96-5e11-8fe3-60cd82764aac)
Dedication (#u2d29e45f-f96d-5df2-a8dc-ec8b94d37555)
Chapter One (#u1810a48a-5a0d-5e9c-96b5-5eb52c58cf7e)
Chapter Two (#u8ac2b2ab-46b5-594b-a4d8-22dea1a59142)
Chapter Three (#uf22a250a-482c-5024-9d7e-098606784da6)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u86892fbf-bd1c-5568-aeb6-49f8e6898205)
It was a warm day for March. And everyone in Bee’s Beauty Parlor that afternoon had gathered at the wide front windows to watch as Travis Dalton rode his favorite bay gelding down Broomtail Road.
The guy was every cowgirl’s fantasy in a snug Western shirt, butt-hugging jeans, Tony Lama Boots and a black hat. One of those film school graduates from the little theater in nearby Kalispell, a video camera stuck to his face, walked backward ahead of him, recording his every move. Travis talked and gestured broadly as he went.
“My, my, my.” Bee smoothed her brassy blond hair, though it didn’t need it. Even in a high wind, Bee’s hair never moved. “Travis does have one fine seat on a horse.”
There were soft, low sounds of agreement and appreciation from the women at the window—and then, out of nowhere, Travis tossed his hat in the air and flipped to a handstand right there on that horse in the middle of the street.
The women applauded. There was more than one outright cry of delight.
Only Brenna O’Reilly stood still and silent. She had her arms wrapped around her middle to keep from clapping, and she’d firmly tucked her lips between her teeth in order not to let out a single sound.
Because no way was Brenna sighing over Travis Dalton. Yes, he was one hot cowboy, with that almost-black hair and those dangerous blue eyes, that hard, lean body and that grin that could make a girl’s lady parts spontaneously combust.
And it wasn’t only his looks that worked for her. Sometimes an adventurous woman needed a hero on hand. Travis had come to her rescue more than once in her life.
But he’d always made a big deal about how he was too old for her—and okay, maybe he’d had a point, back when she was six and he was fourteen. But now that she’d reached the grown-up age of twenty-six, what did eight years even matter?
Never mind. Not going to happen, Brenna reminded herself for the ten thousandth time. And no matter what people in town might say, she was not and never had been in love with the man.
Right now, today, she was simply appreciating the view, which was spectacular.
Beside her, Dovey Jukes actually let out a moan and made a big show of fanning herself. “Is it just me, or is it really hot in here?”
“This is his, er, what did you call it now, Melba?” Bee asked old Melba Strickland, who’d come out from under the dryer to watch the local heartthrob ride by.
“It’s his package,” replied Melba.
Dovey snickered.
Bee let out her trademark smoke-and-whiskey laugh. “Not that kind of package.” She gave Dovey a playful slap on the arm.
“It’s reality television slang,” Melba clarified. “Tessa told me all about it.” Melba’s granddaughter lived in Los Angeles now. Tessa Strickland Drake had a high-powered job in advertising and understood how things worked in the entertainment industry. “A package is an audition application and video.”
“Audition for what?” one of the other girls asked.
“A brand-new reality show.” Melba was in the know. “It’s going to get made at a secret location right here in Montana this summer, and it will be called The Great Roundup. From what I heard, it’s going to be like Survivor, but with cowboys—you know, roping and branding, bringing in the strays, everyone sharing their life stories around the campfire, sleeping out under the stars, answering challenge after challenge, trying not to get eliminated. The winner will earn himself a million-dollar prize.”
Brenna, who’d never met a challenge she couldn’t rise to, clutched the round thermal brush in her hand a little tighter and tried to ignore the tug of longing in her heart. After all, she’d been raised on the family ranch and could rope and ride with the best of them. She couldn’t help but imagine herself on this new cowboy reality show.
True, lately, she’d been putting in some serious effort to quell her wild and crazy side, to settle down a little, you might say.
But a reality show? She could enjoy the excitement while accomplishing a valid goal of winning those big bucks. A few months ago, Bee had started dating a handsome sixtyish widower from Kalispell. Now that things had gotten serious, she’d been talking about selling the shop and retiring so she and her new man could travel. Brenna would love to step up as owner when Bee left.
But that would cost money she didn’t have. If she won a million dollars on a reality show, however, she could buy the shop and still have plenty of money to spare.
And then again, no. Trying out for a reality show was a crazy idea, and Brenna was keeping a lid on her wild side, she truly was. The Great Roundup was not for her.
She asked wistfully, “You think Travis has a chance to be on the show?”
“Are you kidding?” Bee let out a teasing growl. “Those Hollywood people would be crazy not to choose him. And if the one doing the choosing is female, all that man has to do is give her a smile.”
Every woman at that window enthusiastically agreed.
First week of May, a studio soundstage,
Los Angeles, California
Travis Dalton hooked his booted foot across his knee and relaxed in the interview chair.
It was happening. Really happening. His video had wowed them. And his application? He’d broken all the rules with it, just like that book he’d bought—Be a Reality Star—had instructed. He’d used red ink, added lots of silly Western doodles and filled it chock-full of colorful stories of his life on the family ranch.
He’d knocked them clean out of their boots, if he did say so himself. And now here he was in Hollywood auditioning for The Great Roundup.
“Tell us about growing up on a ranch,” said the casting director, whose name was Giselle. Giselle dressed like a fashion model. She had a way of making a guy feel like she could see inside his head. Sharp. That was the word for Giselle. Sharp—and interested. Her calculating eyes watched him so closely.
Which was fine. Good. He wanted her looking at him with interest. He wanted to make the cut, get on The Great Roundup and win himself a million bucks.
Travis gave a slow grin in the general direction of one of the cameras that recorded every move he made. “I grew up on my family’s ranch in northwestern Montana.” He was careful to include Giselle’s question in his answer, in case they ended up using this interview in the show. Then they could cut Giselle’s voice out and what he said would still make perfect sense. “My dad put me on a horse for the first time at the age of five. Sometimes it feels like I was born in the saddle.”
Giselle and her assistant nodded their approval as he went on—about the horses he’d trained and the ones that had thrown him. About the local rodeos where he’d been bucked off more than one bad-tempered bull—and made it all the way to eight full seconds on a few. He thought it was going pretty well, that he was charming them, winning them over, showing them he wasn’t shy, that an audience would love him.
“Can you take off your shirt for us, Travis?”
He’d assumed that would be coming. Rising, Travis unbuttoned and shrugged out of his shirt. At first, he kept it all business, no funny stuff. They needed to get a good look at the body that ranching had built and he kept in shape. He figured they wouldn’t be disappointed.
But they wanted to see a little personality, too, so when Giselle instructed, “Turn around slowly,” he held out his arms, bending his elbows and bringing them down, giving them the cowboy version of a bodybuilder’s flex. As he turned, he grabbed his hat off the back of his chair and plunked it on his head, aiming his chin to the side, giving them a profile shot, and then going all the way with a slow grin and a wink over his shoulder.
The casting assistant, Roxanne, stifled a giggle as she grinned right back.
“Go ahead and sit back down,” Giselle said. She wasn’t flirty like Roxanne, but in her sharp-edged way she seemed happy with how the interview was shaking out.
Travis took off his hat again. He bent to get his shirt.
“Leave it,” said Giselle.
He gave her a slight nod and no smile as he settled back into the chair. Because this was serious business. To him—and to her.
“Now we want to know about that hometown of yours.” Giselle almost smiled then, though really it was more of a smirk. “We’ve been hearing some pretty crazy things about Rust Creek Falls.”
Was he ready for that one? You bet he was. His town had been making news the past few years. First came the flood. He explained about the Fourth of July rains that wouldn’t stop and all the ways the people of Rust Creek Falls had pulled together to come back from the worst disaster in a century. He spoke of rebuilding after the waters receded, of the national attention and the sudden influx of young women who had come to town to find themselves a cowboy.
When Giselle asked if any of those women had found him, he answered in a lazy drawl, “To tell you the truth, I met a lot of pretty women after the great flood.” He put his right hand on his chest. “Each one of them holds a special place in my heart.”
Roxanne had to stifle another giggle.
Giselle sent her a cool look. Roxanne’s smile vanished as if it had never been. “Tell us more,” said Giselle.
And he told them about a certain Fourth of July wedding almost two years ago now, a wedding in Rust Creek Falls Park. A local eccentric by the name of Homer Gilmore had spiked the wedding punch with his special recipe moonshine—purported to make people do things they would never do ordinarily.
“A few got in fights,” he confessed, “present company included, I’m sorry to say.” He made an effort to look appropriately embarrassed at his own behavior before adding, “And a whole bunch of folks got romantic—and that meant that last year, Rust Creek Falls had a serious baby boom. You might have heard of that. We called it the ‘baby bonanza.’ So now we have what amounts to a population explosion in our little town. Nobody’s complaining, though. In Rust Creek Falls, love and family is what it’s all about.”
Travis explained that he wanted to join the cast of The Great Roundup for the thrill of it—and he also wanted to be the last cowboy standing. He had a fine life working the Dalton family ranch, but the million-dollar prize would build him his own house on the land he loved and put a little money in the bank, too.
“I’m not getting any younger,” he admitted with a smile he hoped came across as both sexy and modest. “One of these days, I might even want to find the right girl and settle down.”
Giselle, who had excellent posture in the first place, seemed to sit up even straighter, like a prize hunting dog catching a scent. “The right girl? Interesting.” She glanced at Roxanne, who bobbed her head in an eager nod. “Is there anyone special you’ve got your eye on?”
There was no one, and there probably wouldn’t be anytime soon. But he got Giselle’s message loud and clear. For some reason, the casting director would prefer that he had a sweetheart.
And what Giselle preferred, Travis Dalton was bound and determined to deliver. “Is there a special woman in my life? Well, she’s a...very private person.”
“That would be yes, then. You’re exclusive with someone?”
Damn. Message received, loud and clear. He wasn’t getting out of this without confessing—or lying through his teeth. And since he intended to get on the show, he knew what his choice had to be.
“I don’t want to speak out of hand, but yeah. There is a special someone in my life now. We...haven’t been together long, but...” He let out a low whistle and pasted on an expression that he hoped would pass for completely smitten. “Oh, yeah. Special would be the word for her.”
“Is this special someone a hometown girl?” Giselle’s eyes twinkled in a way that was simultaneously aggressive, gleeful and calculating.
“She’s from Rust Creek Falls, yes. And she’s amazing.” Whoever the hell she is. “It’s the greatest thing in the world, to know someone your whole life and then suddenly to realize there’s a lot more going on between the two of you than you’ve ever admitted before.” Whoa. He probably ought to be ashamed of himself. His mama had brought him up right, taught him not to tell lies. But who did this little white lie hurt, anyway? Not a soul. And to get on The Great Roundup, Travis Dalton would tell Giselle whatever she needed to hear.
“What’s her name?” asked Giselle. It was the next logical question, damn it. He should have known it was coming.
He put on his best killer smile—and lied some more. “Sorry, I can’t tell you her name. You know small towns.” Giselle frowned. She might be sharp as a barbwire fence, but he would bet his Collin Traub dress saddle that she’d never been within a hundred miles of a town like Rust Creek Falls. “We’re keeping what we have together just between the two of us, my girl and me. It’s a special time in our relationship, and we don’t want the whole town butting into our private business.” A special time. Damned if he didn’t sound downright sensitive—for a bald-faced liar. But would the casting director buy it?
Giselle didn’t seem all that thrilled with his unwillingness to out his nonexistent girlfriend, but at least she let it go. A few minutes later, she gave the cameraman a break. Then she chatted with Travis off the record for a couple of minutes more. She said she’d heard he was staying at the Malibu house of LA power player Carson Drake, whose wife, Tessa Strickland Drake, had deep Montana roots. Travis explained that he’d known Tessa all his life. She’d grown up in Bozeman, but she spent most of her childhood summers staying at her grandmother’s boardinghouse in Rust Creek Falls.
After the chitchat, Giselle asked him to have a seat outside. He put on his shirt and grabbed a chair in the waiting area next to a watercooler and vending machine. For the next few hours, he watched potential contestants come and go.
It was past six when they called him back in to tell him that he wouldn’t be returning to Malibu that night—or anytime soon, as it turned out. Real Deal Entertainment would put him up in a hotel room instead.
* * *
Travis lived in that hotel room for two weeks at Real Deal’s beck and call. He took full advantage of room service, and he worked out in the hotel fitness center to pass the time while he got his background checked and his blood drawn. He even got interviewed by a shrink, who asked a lot of way-too-personal questions. There were also a series of follow-up meetings with casting people and producers. At the two-week mark, in a Century City office tower, he got a little quality time with a bunch of network suits.
That evening, absolutely certain he’d made the show, he raided the minibar in his room and raised a toast to his success.
Hot damn, he’d done it! He was going to be a contestant on The Great Roundup. He would have his shot at a cool million bucks.
And he would win, too. Damned if he wouldn’t. He would build his own house on the family ranch and get more say in the day-to-day running of the place. His older brother, Anderson, made most of the decisions now. But if Travis had some hard cash to invest, his big brother would take him more seriously. Travis would step up as a real partner in running the ranch.
Being the good-time cowboy of the family had been fun. But there comes a point when every man has to figure out what to do with his life. Travis had reached that point. And The Great Roundup was going to take him where he needed to go.
The next morning, a car arrived to deliver him to the studio, where he sat in another waiting area outside a different soundstage with pretty much the same group of potential contestants he’d sat with two weeks before. One by one, they were called through the door. They all emerged smiling to be swiftly led away by their drivers.
When Travis’s turn came, he walked onto the soundstage to find Giselle and Roxanne and a couple producers waiting at a long table. The camera was rolling. Except for that meeting in the office tower with the suits and a session involving lawyers with papers to sign, a camera had been pointed at him every time they talked to him.
Giselle said, “Have a seat, Travis.” He took the lone chair facing the others at the table. “We have some great news for you.”
He knew it—he was in! He did a mental fist pump.
But then Giselle said, “You’ve made the cut for the final audition.”
What the hell? Another audition?
“You’ll love this, Travis.” Giselle watched him expectantly as she announced, “The final audition will be in Rust Creek Falls.”
Wait. What?
She went on, “As it happens, your hometown is not far from the supersecret location where The Great Roundup will be filmed. And since your first audition, we have been busy...”
Dirk Henley, one of the producers, chimed in, “We’ve been in touch with the mayor and the town council.”
“Of Rust Creek Falls?” Travis asked, feeling dazed. He was still trying to deal with the fact that there was more auditioning to get through. He couldn’t believe she’d just said the audition would be happening in his hometown.
“Of course, of Rust Creek Falls.” Giselle actually smiled, a smile that tried to be indulgent but was much too full of sharp white teeth to be anything but scary.
Dirk took over again. “Mayor Traub and the other council members are excited to welcome Real Deal Entertainment to their charming little Montana town.”
Travis valiantly remained positive. Okay, he hadn’t made the final cut, but he was still in the running and that was what mattered.
As for the final audition happening at home, well, now that he’d had a second or two to deal with that information, he supposed he wasn’t all that surprised.
For a show like The Great Roundup, his hometown was a location scout’s dream come true. And the mayor and the council would say yes to the idea in a New York minute. The movers and shakers of Rust Creek Falls had gotten pretty ambitious in the last few years. They were always open to anything that might bring attention, money and/or jobs to town. Real Deal Entertainment should be good for at least the first two.
Dirk said, “We’ll be sending Giselle, Roxanne, a camera crew and a few production people along with you for a last on-camera group audition.”
Giselle showed more teeth. “We’re going to put you and your fellow finalists in your own milieu, you might say.”
Dirk nodded his approval. “And that milieu is a very atmospheric cowboy bar with which I’m sure you are familiar.”
There was only one bar inside the Rust Creek Falls town limits. Travis named it. “The Ace.”
“That’s right!” Dirk beamed. “The Ace in the Hole, which we love.”
What did that even mean? They loved the name? Must be it. No Hollywood type would actually love the Ace. It was a down-home, no-frills kind of place.
Dirk was still talking. “We’ll be taking over ‘the Ace’—” he actually air quoted it “—for a night of rollicking country fun. You know, burgers and brews and a country-western band. We want to see you get loose, kick over the traces, party in a purely cowboy sort of way. It will be fabulous. You’re going to have a great time.” He nodded at the other producer, who nodded right back. “I’m sure we’ll get footage we can use on the show.”
And then Giselle piped up with, “And, Travis...” Her voice was much too casual, much too smooth. “We want you to bring your fiancée along to the audition. We love what you’ve told us about her, and we can’t wait to meet her.”
Chapter Two (#u86892fbf-bd1c-5568-aeb6-49f8e6898205)
Fiancée?
Travis’s heart bounced upward into his throat. He tried not to choke and put all he had into keeping his game face on.
But...
Fiancée? When did his imaginary girlfriend become a fiancée?
He’d never in his life had a fiancée. He hadn’t even been with a woman in almost a year.
Yeah, all right. He had a rep as a ladies’ man and he knew how to play that rep, but all that, with the women and the wild nights? It had gotten really old over time. And then there was what had happened last summer. After that, he’d realized he needed to grow the hell up. He’d sworn off women for a while.
Damn. This was bad. Much worse than finding out there was still another audition to get through. How had he not seen this coming?
Apparently, they’d decided they needed a little romance on the show, a young couple in love and engaged to be married—and he’d let Giselle get the idea that he could give them that. He’d thought he was playing the game, but he’d only played himself.
He tried to put on the brakes a little. “Uh, Giselle. We’re not exactly engaged yet.”
“But you will be.” It was a command. And before he could figure out what to say next, Giselle stood. “So, we’re set then. You’ll be taken back to the hotel for tonight. Pack up. Your plane leaves first thing tomorrow.”
* * *
Travis had come this far, and he wasn’t about to give up now. Somehow, he needed to find himself a temporary fiancée. She had to be outgoing and pretty, someone who could ride a horse, build a campfire and handle a rifle, someone he could trust, someone he wouldn’t mind pretending to be in love with.
And she had to be someone from town.
It was impossible. He knew that. But damn it, he was not giving up. Somehow, he had to find a way to give Giselle and the others what they wanted.
Real Deal Entertainment had a van waiting at the airport in Kalispell. The company had also sent along a production assistant, Gerry, to ride herd on the talent. Gerry made sure everyone and their luggage got on board the van and then drove them to Maverick Manor, a resort a few miles outside the Rust Creek Falls town limits.
Gerry herded them to the front desk. As he passed out the key cards, he announced that he was heading back to the airport to pick up the next group of finalists. They were to rest up and order room service. The producers and casting director would be calling everyone together first thing tomorrow right here in the main lobby.
Travis grabbed Gerry’s arm before he could get away. “I need to go into town.” And rustle up a fiancée.
Gerry frowned—but then he nodded. “Right. You’re Dalton, the local guy. You can get your own ride?”
“Yeah.” A ride was the least of his problems.
Gerry regarded him, narrow eyed. Travis understood. As potential talent, the production company wanted him within reach at all times. He wouldn’t be free again until he was either culled from the final cast list—or the show had finished shooting, whichever happened first.
Travis was determined not to be culled. “I’m supposed to bring my fiancée to the audition tomorrow night. I really need to talk to her about that.” As soon as I can find her.
Gerry, who was about five foot six and weighed maybe 110 soaking wet, glared up at him. “Got it. Don’t mess me up, man.”
“No way. I want this job.”
“Remember your confidentiality agreement. Nothing about the production or your possible part in it gets shared.”
“I remember.”
“Be in your room by seven tonight. I’ll be checking.”
“And I’ll be there.”
Gerry headed for the airport, and Travis called the ranch. His mother, Mary, answered the phone. “Honey, I am on my way,” she said.
He was waiting at the front entrance of the Manor when she pulled up in the battered pickup she’d been driving for as long as he could remember. She jumped out and grabbed him in a bear hug. “Two weeks in Hollywood hasn’t done you any damage that I can see.” She stepped back and clapped him on the arms. “Get in. Let’s go.”
She talked nonstop all the way back to the ranch—mostly about his father’s brother, Phil, who had recently moved to town from Hardin, Montana. Phil Dalton had wanted a new start after the loss of Travis’s aunt Diana. And Uncle Phil hadn’t made the move alone. His and Diana’s five grown sons had packed up and come with him.
At the ranch, Travis’s mom insisted he come inside for a piece of her famous apple pie and some coffee.
“I don’t have that long, Mom.”
“Sit down,” Mary commanded. “It’s not gonna kill you to enjoy a slice of my pie.”
So he had some pie and coffee. He saw his brother Anderson, briefly. His dad, Ben, was still at work at his law office in town.
Zach, one of Uncle Phil’s boys, came in, too. “That pie looks really good, Aunt Mary.”
Mary laughed. “Sit down and I’ll cut you a nice big piece.”
Zach poured himself some coffee and took the chair across from Travis. In his late twenties, Zach was a good-looking guy. He asked Travis, “So how’s it going with that reality show you’re gonna be on?”
Travis kept it vague. “We’ll see. I haven’t made the final cut yet.”
Zach shook his head. “Well, good luck. I don’t get the appeal of all that glitzy Hollywood stuff. I’m more interested in settling down, you know? Since we lost Mom...” His voice trailed off, and his blue eyes were mournful.
“Oh, hon.” Trav’s mom patted Zach gently on the back. She returned to the stove and added over her shoulder, “It’s a tough time, I know.”
“So sorry about Aunt Diana,” Travis said quietly.
Zach nodded. “Thank you both—and like I was sayin’, losing Mom has reminded me of what really matters, made me see it’s about time I found the right woman and started my family.”
Travis ate another bite of his mother’s excellent pie and then couldn’t resist playing devil’s advocate on the subject of settling down. “I can’t even begin to understand how tough it’s been for you and your dad and the other boys. But come on, Zach. You’re not even thirty. What’s the big hurry to go tying the knot?”
Zach sipped his coffee. “You would say that. From where I’m sitting, Travis, you’re a little behind the curve. All your brothers and sisters—and more than a few cousins—are married and having babies. A wife and kids, that’s what life’s all about.”
“I’ll say it again. There’s no rush.” Well, okay. For him there kind of was. He needed a fiancée, yesterday or sooner. But a wife? Not anytime soon.
Travis’s mother spoke up from her spot at the stove. “Don’t listen to him, Zach. If a wife is what you’re looking for, you’ve come to the right place. There are plenty of pretty, smart, marriageable young women in Rust Creek Falls. Marriage is in the air around here.”
Travis grunted. “Or it could be something in the water. Whatever it is, Mom’s right. Marriage is nothing short of contagious in this town. Everybody seems to be coming down with it.”
Zach forked up his last bite of pie. “Sounds like Rust Creek Falls is exactly the place that I want to be.”
* * *
It was almost three in the afternoon when Travis climbed in his Ford F-150 crew cab and went to town.
He drove up and down the streets of Rust Creek Falls with the windows down, waving and calling greetings to people he knew, racking his brain for a likely candidate to play the love of his life on The Great Roundup.
Driving and waving were getting him nowhere. He decided he’d stop in at Daisy’s Donut Shop—just step inside and see if his future fake fiancée might be waiting there, having herself a maple bar and coffee.
He found a spot at the curb in front of Buffalo Bill’s Wings To Go, which was right next door to Daisy’s. As he walked past, he stuck his head in Wings To Go. No prospects there. He went on to the donut shop, but when he peered in the window, he saw only five senior citizens and a young mother with two little ones under five.
Not a potential fiancée in sight.
Trying really hard not to get discouraged, he started to turn back for his truck. But then the door to the adjacent shop opened.
Callie Crawford, a nurse at the local clinic, came out of the beauty parlor. “Thanks, Brenna,” Callie called over her shoulder before letting the door shut. She spotted Travis. “Hey, Travis! I heard about you and that reality show. Exciting stuff.”
“Good to see you, Callie.” He tipped his hat to her. “Final audition is tomorrow night.”
“At the Ace, so I heard. We’re all rooting for you.”
He thanked her and asked her to say hi to her husband, Nate, for him. With a nod and a smile, Callie got in her SUV and drove off.
And that was it. That was when it happened. He watched Callie drive off down the street when it came to him.
Brenna. Brenna O’Reilly.
Good-looking, smart as a whip and raised on a ranch. She’d taken some ribbons barrel racing during the three or four summers she worked the local rodeo circuit. She was bold, too. Stood up for herself and didn’t take any guff.
But he’d always considered himself too old for her. Plus, he kind of thought of himself as a guy who looked out for her. He would never make a move on her.
However, this wouldn’t be a move.
Uh-uh. This would be...an opportunity.
If she was interested and if it was something she could actually handle.
Brenna.
Did he have any other prospects for this?
Hell, no.
He had less than three hours to find someone. At this point, it was pretty much Brenna or bust.
By then, he was already opening the door to the beauty shop. A bell tinkled overhead as he went in.
Brenna was standing right there, behind the reception counter with the cash register on it, facing the door. She looked kind of surprised at the sight of him.
Before either of them could say anything, the owner, Bee, spotted him. “Travis Dalton!” She waved at him with the giant blow-dryer in her left hand. “What do you know? It’s our local celebrity.”
Every woman in the shop turned to stare at him. He took off his hat and put on his best smile. “Not a celebrity yet, Bee. Ladies, how you doing?”
A chorus of greetings followed. He nodded and kept right on smiling.
Bee asked, “What can we do for you, darlin’?”
He thought fast. “The big final audition’s tomorrow night.”
“So we heard.”
“Figured I could maybe use a haircut—just a trim.” He hooked his hat on the rack by the door. “So, Brenna, you available?”
Brenna’s blue eyes met his. “You’re in luck. I’ve got an hour before my next appointment.” She came out from behind the counter, looking smart and sassy in snug jeans, ankle boots and a silky red shirt. Red worked for her. Matched her hair, which used to be a riot of springy curls way back when. Now she wore it straight and smooth, a waterfall of fire to just below her shoulders.
She waited until he’d hung up his denim jacket next to his hat then led him to her station. “Have a seat.”
He dropped into the padded swivel chair and faced his own image in the mirror.
Brenna put her hands on his shoulders and leaned in. He got a whiff of her perfume. Nice. She caught his eye in the mirror and then ran her fingers up into his hair, her touch light, professional. “This looks pretty good.”
It should. He’d paid a lot to a Hollywood stylist right before that first audition two weeks ago. “I was thinking just a trim.”
She stood back, nodding, a dimple tucking into her velvety cheek as she smiled. “Well, all right. You want a shampoo first?”
What he wanted was to talk to her alone. He cast a glance to either side and lowered his voice. “Say, Brenna...”
She knew instantly that he was up to something. He could tell by the slight narrowing of her eyes and the way the bow of her upper lip flattened just a little. And then she leaned in again and whispered, “What’s going on?”
He went for it. “I was wondering if I could talk to you in private.”
Her sleek red-brown eyebrows drew together. “Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
He cast a quick glance around and spotted the hallway that led to the parking area in back. “Outside?”
She folded her arms across her chest and tipped her head to the side. “Sure. Go on out back. I’ll be right there.”
“Thanks.” He got right up and headed for the back door, not even pausing to collect his jacket and hat. It wasn’t that cold out, and he could get them later.
“What’s going on?” Bee asked as he strode past her station.
Brenna answered for him. “Travis and I need to talk.”
Somebody giggled.
Somebody else said, “Oh, I’ll just bet you do.”
Travis kept walking. It was okay with him if everyone at the beauty shop assumed he was finally making a move on Brenna—because he was.
Just not exactly in the way that they thought.
Outside, he looked for a secluded spot and settled on the three-walled nook where Bee stored her Dumpster. It didn’t smell too bad, and the walls would give them privacy.
He heard the back door open again and stuck his head out to watch Brenna emerge. “Psst.”
She spotted him and laughed. “Travis, what is this?”
He waved her forward. “Come on. We don’t have all day.”
For that he got an eye roll, but she did hustle on over to the enclosure. “All right, I’m here. Now what is it?”
He had no idea where to even start. “I...I have a proposal.”
Her eyelashes swept down and then back up again. “Excuse me?”
“This... What I’m about to say. I need your solemn word you won’t tell a soul about any of it, or I’ll get sued for breach of contract. Understand?”
“Not really.” She chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “But okay. I’m game. I won’t tell a soul. You have my sworn word on that.” She hooked her pinkie at him. He gave it a blank look. “Pinkie promise, Trav. You know that is the most solemn of promises and can never be broken.”
“What are we, twelve?”
She made a little snorting sound. “Oh, come on.”
He gave in and hooked his pinkie with hers. “Satisfied?”
“Are you? Because that is the question.” She laughed, a sweet, musical sound, and tightened her pinkie against his briefly before letting go.
“As long as you promise me.”
“Travis. I promise. I will tell no one, no matter what happens. Now what is going on?”
“How’d you like to be on The Great Roundup?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “What? How? You’re making no sense.”
“Just listen, okay? Just give me a chance. I...well, I really thought I had it, you know? I thought I was on the show. But it turns out they want a young couple. A young, engaged couple. And the casting director sort of asked me if there was anyone special back home and I sort of said yes. And then, all of a sudden, they tell me there’s one final audition, that it will be at the Ace and I should bring my fiancée.”
Brenna’s eyes were wide as dinner plates. “You told them you were engaged?”
“No, I didn’t tell them that. They assumed it. And now I need a fake fiancée, okay? I need someone who doesn’t mind putting herself out there, if you know what I mean. Someone who’s not going to be afraid to speak up and hold her head high when the cameras are rolling. Someone good-looking who’s familiar with ranch work, who can ride a horse and handle a rifle.”
Brenna grinned then. “So you think I’m good-looking, huh?”
“Brenna, you’re gorgeous.”
“Travis.” She looked like she was having a really good time. “Say that again.”
Why not? It was only the truth. “Brenna, you are superfine.”
And she threw back her red head and let her laughter chime out. He stood there and watched her and thought how he’d known her since she was knee-high to a gnat. And that she was perfect, just what he needed to make Giselle happy—and earn him his spot on The Great Roundup.
But then she stopped laughing. She lowered her head and she regarded him steadily. “So say that it worked—say I go to the Ace with you tomorrow night and we convince them that we’re together, that we’re going to get married. Then what?”
“Then you belong to them for the next eight to ten weeks. First while they run checks on you and make sure you’re healthy, mentally stable and have never murdered anyone or anything.”
“You’re not serious.”
“As a rattler on a hot rock. And as soon as all that’s over, we start filming. That’s happening at some so far undisclosed Montana location. We’re there until they’re through filming.”
“But what if I get eliminated? Then can I come home?”
He shook his head. “Everyone stays. So they can bring you back on camera if they want to, and also because if you come home early, everyone who knows you will know you’ve been eliminated. They want to keep the suspense going as to who the big winner is until the final show airs. Also, when the filming’s over and you come home, you and I would still be pretending to be engaged.”
“Until?”
“The episodes where we’ve each been eliminated have aired—or the final episode, where one of us wins. The show airs once a week, August through December. Bottom line, you could be my fake fiancée straight through till Christmas.”
She leaned against the wall next to the Dumpster and wrapped her arms around herself. “Wow. I...don’t know what to say.”
He resisted the burning need to promise her that they would win and that she was going to love it. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.”
She slanted him a glance. “I’d have to check with Bee, see if she’d hold my station for two months.”
He refused to consider that Bee might say anything but yes. “I get that, sure.”
“And then there’s the money. I heard the winner gets a million dollars.”
“Actually, once you get on the show, there’s a graduated fee scale. The million is the top prize, but everybody gets something.”
She leaned toward him a little, definitely interested. “Graduated how?”
“The first one eliminated gets twenty-five hundred. The longer you stay in the game, the more you get. For instance, if you last through the sixth show, you get ten thousand. And if you’re the last to go before the winner, you get a hundred K.”
She actually chuckled. “Good to know. So, Travis, if we’re in this together, I say we split everything fifty-fifty.”
He’d figured on giving her something, but he’d been kind of hoping she’d settle for much less. After all, he had big plans for his new house, for the ranch. He cleared his throat. “Would you take twenty percent?”
“Travis,” she chided.
“Thirty?” he asked hopefully.
“Look at it this way. If they like me and want me on the show, you double your chances to win. Not to mention, the longer we both stay on, the more we both make.” She spoke way too patiently. He found himself wistfully recalling the little girl she’d once been, the little girl who’d considered him her own personal hero and would have done anything he asked her to do, instantly, without question. Where had that little girl gone?
“True, but I’m your ticket in,” he reminded her. “I’m the one who worked my ass off getting this far, you know?”
“I see that. And I admire that. I sincerely do. But without me, you won’t make the cast.”
She was probably right. He argued, anyway. “I’m not sure of that.”
Brenna was silent, leaning there against the wall, her head tipped down. The seconds ticked by. He waited, trying to look easy and unconcerned, playing it like he didn’t have a care in the world. Too bad that inside he was a nervous wreck.
Finally, she looked up and spoke again. “I’m trying not to be so impulsive in my life, to settle down a little, you know what I mean?”
Their eyes met and they gazed at each other for a long count of ten. “Bren. I know exactly what you mean.”
She gave a chuckle, sweet and low. “I kind of thought that you might. The thing is, playing your fake fiancée on a reality show is not exactly what I would call settling down. And what are the odds against us, anyway? How many will end up competing with us?”
“I think there are twenty-two contestants total, so it’s you and me and twenty others.”
“Meaning that however we split the money, odds are someone else will take home the big prize.”
He pushed off the wall, took her by the shoulders and looked deeply into those ocean-blue eyes. “First rule. Never, ever say we might not win. We will win. Half the battle is the mental game. Defeat is not an option. Winning is the only acceptable outcome.”
She got it, she really did. He could feel it in the sudden straightening of her shoulders beneath his hands, see it in the bright gleam that lit those wide eyes. “Yeah. You’re right. We will win.”
“That’s it. Hold that thought.” He let go of her shoulders but held her gaze.
She said, “We really would be increasing our chances, the two of us together. Together, we can work out strategies, you know? We can plan how to handle whatever they throw at us.”
“Exactly. We would have each other’s backs. So what do you say, Bren?”
“I still want half the money.” A gust of wind slipped into the three-sided enclosure and stirred her hair, blowing a few fiery strands across her mouth.
He smoothed them out of the way, guiding them behind her ear, thinking how soft her pale skin was and marveling at how she’d grown up to be downright hot. It was a good thing he’d always promised himself he’d never make a move on her. Add that promise to the fact that he’d sworn off women and he should be able to keep from getting any romantic ideas about her.
“Travis?” She searched his face. “Did you hear what I just said?”
“I heard.” He ordered his mind off her inconvenient hotness and set it on coming up with more reasons she should take less than half the prize.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of a single one.
So all right, then. His new house and his investment in the ranch would be smaller. But his chances of winning had just doubled—more than doubled. Because Brenna was a fighter, and together they would go all the way to the win.
“Fair enough, Bren. Fifty-fifty, you and me.” He held up his hand.
She slapped a high five on it. “I’ll be right back.”
He caught her before she could get away. “There’s more we need to talk about.”
“Not until I get the okay from Bee, we don’t.” She glanced down at his fingers wrapped around her upper arm.
He let go. “What will you say to her?”
“That I might have a chance on The Great Roundup, but to try for it, I need to know that she’ll let me have my booth back on August 1.”
“Good. That’s good. Don’t mention the engagement yet. We still need to decide how to handle that.”
She let out another sweet, happy laugh—and then mimed locking her mouth and tossing away the key. “My lips are sealed,” she whispered, then whirled on her heel and headed for the back door.
Five endless minutes later, she returned.
“Well?” he asked, his heart pounding a worried rhythm beneath his ribs.
Her smile burst wide open. “Bee wished us luck.”
“And?”
“Yes, she’ll hold my booth for me.”
He almost grabbed her and hugged her, but caught himself in time. “Excellent.”
“Yeah—and is there some reason we need to hang around out here? Let’s go in. I’ll give you that trim you pretended you needed.”
He heard a scratching sound, boots crunching gravel. “What’s that?”
He signaled for silence and stuck his head out of the enclosure in time to see the back of crazy old Homer Gilmore as he scuttled away across the parking lot toward the community center on Main, the next street over.
Brenna stuck her head out, too. “It’s just Homer.”
They retreated together back into the enclosure. He asked, “You think he heard us?”
She was completely unconcerned. “Even if he did, Homer’s not going to say anything.”
“And you know this how?”
“He’s a little odd, but he minds his own business.”
“A little odd? He’s the one who spiked the punch with moonshine at Braden and Jennifer’s wedding two years ago.”
“So?” The wind stirred her hair again. She combed it back off her forehead with her fingers. “He never gossips or carries tales. To tell you the truth, I trust him.”
“Because...?”
“It’s just, well, I don’t know. I have this feeling that he looks out for me, like a guardian angel or a fairy godmother.”
Travis couldn’t help scoffing, “One who just happens to be a peculiar old homeless man.”
“He’s not homeless. People just assume he is. He’s got a shack on Falls Mountain he stays in.”
“Who told you that?”
“He did. And he’s not going to say anything. I guarantee it. Now, let’s go in and—”
Travis put up a hand. “Just a minute. A couple more things. Starting tomorrow night, we’re madly in love. You’ll need to convince a bunch of LA TV people that I’m the only guy for you.”
“Well, that’s a lot to ask,” she teased. “But I’ll do my best.”
“You’ll need to make everyone in town believe it, too—including your family. They all have to think we’re for real.”
“Trav, I can do it.” She was all determination now. “You can count on me.”
“That’s what I needed to hear.”
“Then, can we go in?”
“There’s one more thing...”
“What?”
“It’s important tomorrow night that you be on. You need to show them your most outgoing self. Sell your own personality.” When she nodded up at him, he went on, “I did a lot of research on reality shows before I went into this. What I learned is that the show is a story, Bren. A story told in weekly episodes. And a good story is all about big personalities, characters you can’t forget, over-the-top emotions. What I’m saying is, you can’t be shy. It’s better to embarrass yourself than to be all bottled up and boring. Are you hearing what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I am. And let me ask you something. When have you ever known me to be boring?”
Her various escapades over the years scrolled through his mind. At the age of nine, she’d gotten mad at her mom and run away. She got all the way to Portland, Oregon, before they caught up with her. At twelve, she’d coldcocked one of the Peabody boys when she caught him picking on a younger kid. Peabody hit the ground hard. It took thirty stitches to sew him back up. At sixteen, she’d rolled her pickup over a cliff because she never could resist a challenge and Leonie Parker had dared her to race up Falls Mountain. Only the good Lord knew how she’d survived that crash without major injury.
The more Travis thought of all the crazy things she’d done, the more certain he became that Brenna O’Reilly would have no problem selling herself to Giselle and the rest of them. “All right. I hear you.”
“Good. ’Cause I’m a lot of things, Travis Dalton. But I am never shy or boring.”
* * *
The next night, Real Deal Entertainment had assigned Gerry to drive the finalists to the Ace in the Hole.
All except for Travis. They let him make a quick trip to Kalispell in the afternoon and then, in the evening, he drove his F-150 out to the O’Reilly place to pick up his supposed fiancée.
Brenna’s mom answered his knock. Travis had always liked Maureen O’Reilly. She loved her life on the family ranch, and her kitchen was the heart of her home. She’d always treated Travis with warmth and affection.
Tonight, however? Not so much. When he swept off his hat and gave her a big smile, she didn’t smile back.
“Hello, Travis.” Maureen pulled back the door and then hustled him into the living room, where she offered him a seat on the sofa. “Brenna will be right down.”
“Great. Thanks.”
She leaned toward him a little and asked in a low voice, “Travis, I need you to be honest with me. What’s going on here?”
Before he left Brenna at the beauty shop yesterday, they’d agreed on how to handle things with her parents and his. Right now, Maureen needed to know that there was something going on between him and her middle daughter. The news of their engagement, however, would come a little bit later. “Brenna and I have a whole lot in common. She’s agreed to come out to the audition at the Ace with me tonight.”
“What does that mean, ‘a whole lot in common’?”
“I care for her. I care for her deeply.” It was surprisingly easy to say. Probably because it was true. He did care for Brenna. Always had. “She’s one of a kind. There’s no other girl like her.”
Maureen scowled. She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she got a word out, her husband, Paddy, appeared in the archway that led to the kitchen.
“Travis. How you doin’?”
“Great, Paddy.” He popped to his feet, and he and Paddy shook hands. “Real good to see you.”
“Heard about you and that reality show.”
“Final audition is tonight.”
“Well, good luck to you, son.”
Maureen started to speak again, but Brenna’s arrival cut her off. “It’s show business, Dad,” she scolded with a playful smile. “In show business, you say ‘break a leg.’”
Travis tried not to stare as she came down the stairs wearing dark-wash jeans that hugged her strong legs and a sleeveless lace-trimmed purple top that clung to every curve. Damn, she was fine. Purple suede dress boots and a rhinestone-studded cowboy hat completed the perfect picture she made.
Again, Travis reminded himself that she was spunky little Brenna O’Reilly and this so-called relationship they were going to have when they got on the show was just that—all show. Brenna didn’t need to be messing with a troublesome cowboy like him.
And he knew very well that Maureen thought so, too.
Still, he could almost start having real ideas about Brenna and him and what they might get up to together pretending to be engaged during The Great Roundup.
Brenna kissed her mom on the cheek and then her dad, too. She handed Travis her rhinestone-trimmed jean jacket and he helped her into it.
They managed to get out the door and into the pickup without Maureen asking any more uncomfortable questions.
“It’s time,” she said in a low and angry tone as he turned off the dirt road from the ranch and onto the highway heading toward town. “Scratch that. It’s past time I got my own place.” Rentals in Rust Creek Falls were hard to come by. A lot of young women like Brenna lived with their parents until they got married or finally scraped together enough to buy something of their own. “Bee offered me her apartment over the beauty shop. She’s been living in Kalispell, anyway, with her new guy. So when we win The Great Roundup, I’m moving. I love my mom, but she’s driving me crazy.”
“When we win. That’s the spirit.” As for Maureen, he played the diplomat. “Your mom’s a wonderful woman.”
Brenna shook her head and stared out the window. He almost asked her exactly what Maureen might have said to upset her—but then again, it was probably about him and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
The rest of the ride passed in silence. Travis wanted to give Brenna a little more coaching on how to become a reality TV star, but the closer they got to town, the more withdrawn she seemed. He started to worry that something was really bothering her—something more than annoyance with her mom. And he had no idea what to say to ease whatever weighed on her mind.
The parking lot at the Ace was full. Music poured out of the ramshackle wooden building at the front of the lot. They were playing a fast one, something with a driving beat. Travis drove up and down the rows of parked vehicles, looking for a free space. Finally, in the last row at the very back of the lot, he found one.
He pulled in and turned off the engine. “You okay, Brenna?”
She aimed a blinding smile at him. “Great. Let’s get going.” Shoving open her door, she got out.
So he jumped out on his side and hustled around to her. He offered his hand. She gave him the strangest wild-eyed sort of look, but then she took it. Hers was ice-cold. He laced their fingers together and considered pulling her back, demanding to know if she was all right.
“Let’s do this.” She started walking, head high, that red hair shining down her back, rhinestones glittering on her hat, along the cuffs, hem and collar of her pretty denim jacket.
He fell in step with her, though he had a scary premonition they were headed straight for disaster. She seemed completely determined to go forward. He was afraid to slow her down, afraid that would finish her somehow, that calling a halt until she told him what was wrong would only make her turn and run. Their chance on The Great Roundup would be lost before they even got inside to try for it.
They went around to the front of the building and up the wooden steps. A couple of cowboys came out and held the door for them. Both men looked at Brenna with interest, and Travis felt a buzz of irritation under his skin. He gave them each a warning glare. The men tipped their hats and kept on walking.
Inside, it was loud and wall-to-wall with partiers. Travis had never seen the Ace this packed. He spotted a couple of cameramen filming the crowd. Over by the bar, he caught sight of old Wally Wilson, a fellow finalist who’d grown up on the Oklahoma prairie and ridden the rodeos all over the West. Wally was talking the ear off one of the bartenders. And another finalist, that platinum blonde rodeo star, Summer Knight, was surrounded by cowboys. He knew it was her by the shine of her almost-white hair and that sexy laugh of hers.
“Come on.” He pulled Brenna in closer so she could hear him. “We’ll find the casting director, Giselle. I’ll introduce you.”
She blinked and stared at him through those now-enormous eyes. What was going on with her?
She looked terrified and he had no idea what to do about it.
* * *
Brenna was terrified.
She was totally freaking out. Brenna never freaked out.
And that freaked her out even more.
She’d been so sure she knew how to handle herself. She did know how to handle herself. She was bold. Fearless. Nothing scared her. Ever.
Except this, the Ace packed to bursting, the music so loud. All these people pressing in around her, a casting director waiting to meet her.
And Travis.
Travis, who was counting on her to win them both a spot on The Great Roundup.
Dear Lord, she didn’t want to blow this. She would never forgive herself if she let Travis down.
“There’s Giselle.” Travis waved at a tall, model-skinny woman on the other side of the room. The woman lifted a hand and signaled them to join her. “This way.” His fingers still laced with hers, he started working his way through the crowd, leading her toward the tall woman with cheekbones so sharp they threatened to poke right through her skin.
“Wait.” Brenna dug in her boot heels.
He stopped and turned back to her, a worried frown between his eyebrows. “Bren?” He said her name softly, gently. He knew she was losing it. “What? Tell me.”
She blasted a smile at him and forced a brittle laugh. “Can you just give me a minute?” She tipped her head toward the hallway that led to the ladies’ room. “I’ll be right back.” She tugged free of his grip.
“Brenna—”
“I need to check my lip gloss.”
“But—”
“Right back.” She sent him a quick wave over her shoulder and made for the hallway, scattering Excuse mes as she went, weaving her way as fast as she could through the tight knots of people, ignoring anyone who spoke to her or glanced her way.
When she reached the hallway, she kept on going, her eyes on the glowing green exit sign down at the end. She got to the ladies’ room and she didn’t even slow down. She just kept right on walking down to the end of the hall.
And out the back door.
Chapter Three (#u86892fbf-bd1c-5568-aeb6-49f8e6898205)
The heavy door swung shut behind Brenna, and the racket from inside dimmed a little. She’d emerged into a loading area, with the packed dirt parking lot spread out beyond. Under the light of a few lamps on tall wooden poles, the rows of empty cars waited, not a soul in sight. Brenna shivered at the eeriness of it after the crush of people inside.
With no idea what to do next, she kept walking, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her head tipped down, not knowing where she was going—until she ran right into someone coming the other way.
“Whoa, now...” said a raspy male voice.
She blinked and looked up—first at the dirty top half of a union suit. The shirt was frayed around the wattled neck of an old man with bristly gray whiskers and thinning, scraggly white hair. “Homer,” she said in a dazed whisper. “Homer Gilmore.”
The old man smiled, showing crooked, yellowed teeth. “If it isn’t Brenna O’Reilly. Where you headin’ in such an all-fired hurry?”
“I was just...”
“Runnin’ away?” he finished for her.
Homer was famous in Rust Creek Falls for a number of reasons. He made moonshine that made people throw off their inhibitions. He tended to show up when you least expected him. And he knew things. Travis might scoff at her for saying it, but that didn’t make it any less true. Homer really could read things about people. He always seemed to know intuitively what folks were going through.
She started to deny that she was running anywhere. “I was just—”
“Scared, is what you were. And that is not like you.”
“I got—”
“Stage fright. I know. Sometimes it happens.”
“Homer, how do you—”
“Know things?” He only laughed, a sound every bit as ragged and rusty as the rest of him. And then he lowered his head. Brenna followed his gaze to his gnarled right hand, in which he held a jar of clear liquid.
“Homer, is that—”
“Just what you need about now? Yeah, Brenna. It is.”
She looked up into his watery eyes again. “But I don’t want to get—”
“Drunk? Uh-uh. You won’t be. This is just a little magic for you, that’s all. A little nudge in the right direction for this one time. Look at me, Brenna.” His voice was softer now. She could just wrap it around her, it sounded so soothing and good. She looked right into his eyes.
“Say what you’re thinking,” he instructed.
And she did. “I’m still afraid, but it’s okay. I’m bigger than my fear.”
“That’s right. That’s the spirit.” He held out the jar. “Take one long drink, Brenna O’Reilly. And then get back in there and show them what you’re made of.”
She took the jar and unscrewed the lid.
* * *
Travis was getting really worried.
And not only about the fact that Giselle kept shooting him dirty looks and mouthing, “Where is she?” across the crowded dance floor at him.
He was worried about Brenna. She’d looked so upset when she took off for the restroom. He shouldn’t have let her go like that. He should have gone with her, made sure she got there safe, made sure she was okay.
She’d seemed so cocky and confident yesterday, so completely Brenna, out there behind the beauty shop. He’d really believed she could handle anything The Great Roundup could throw at her. So he’d gotten her into this.
Travis had pulled some crazy stunts in his life, but one thing he’d always done right was to look out for Brenna O’Reilly. He’d protected her from more than one potential disaster.
Not tonight, though. Something was really bothering her, and he knew it. And still, he’d let her leave his side.
It was an error in judgment on his part, and he needed to rectify that. He needed to stop standing here like a damn fool and go after her.
He started for the hallway that led to the restrooms. People pushed in around him, and he just pushed back. Nodding, forcing a smile when anyone spoke to him, he kept going until he reached the hallway, where a line of women waited to get into the restroom. Brenna was not among them.
He was just trying to decide whether or not to barge into the ladies’ room shouting her name when the door all the way down at the end of the hallway opened—and there she was.
“Brenna!”
She tipped her chin high so he could see her face clearly under the brim of her hat. She spotted him—and she smiled, a bright, glowing smile. Hot damn, she was gorgeous.
And apparently, she’d gotten over whatever had been bothering her.
“Travis!” She gave him a jaunty wave and started toward him.
“’Scuse me, ladies.” He eased his way between two women at the front of the restroom line and went for her, not stopping till he stood in front of her a few feet from the door. “Brenna, are you okay?”
She grinned up at him. “Never better.” She really did seem fine now, brimming with her usual bright confidence.
But he had to be sure. He leaned close and said for her ears alone, “We don’t have to do this. I can take you home.”
She reached up and got a handful of the front of his shirt. “We’re not giving up now. Don’t even think it.”
“But are you—”
She cut him off by jerking him down to her and lifting her mouth to within an inch from his. “We are doing this.” Her eyes had stars in them. “And we are taking home the prize.”
“Brenna...” She smelled of flowers and fresh-cut grass. He really wanted to kiss her.
“Do it,” she whispered, clearly reading his mind. “We need to do it. How can we pretend that we’re headed for forever when you’ve never even put your lips on mine?”
Was she right? Did he really need to kiss her to make their fake relationship seem real for Giselle and the others? Hell if he knew. All he could think was that he’d never kissed her—and he had to kiss her.
Finally. At last.
He lowered his head a fraction closer, and she surged up.
His mouth touched hers.
With a sigh, she let go of his shirtfront and her hands slid up to clasp the back of his neck. “Travis...” She stroked his nape with her soft fingers as she whispered his name, kissing it onto his lips.
So good. So right. She tasted of honey, of ripe summer fruit—peaches and blackberries, watermelon. Cherries. She tasted of promises, sweet hopes and big dreams. She tasted of home.
Someone up the hall a ways let out a whoop, while someone else yelled, “Kiss her, cowboy!”
Neither Travis nor Brenna paid their hecklers any mind. The brims of their hats collided as they deepened the kiss. His fell and then hers, but neither of them cared.
That kiss went on forever.
And still, it was too short.
She ended it, finally, by dropping back down to her heels again. Dazed, reluctant to lose the hot spell of her kiss, he opened his eyes to find her staring up at him, her mouth as plump and red as the cherries she tasted like.
“Brenna...” he whispered like some kind of long-gone fool. At that moment, her name was the only word he knew.
She gave a low laugh and dipped to the floor, grabbing both their hats and passing him his. He slid it on his head as she held out her hand. “Come on, cowboy. Let’s go have ourselves some fun.”
* * *
How did she do it?
Travis had no idea.
But that night, Brenna was a natural, a reality TV show dream come true.
He took her to Giselle first. She shook Giselle’s hand, leaned in close and whispered something.
Giselle laughed out loud. In the weeks he’d been dealing with her, Travis had never seen Giselle laugh.
It went on like that all night. Brenna was sexy and funny and so good at pretending to be in love with him, he almost believed it himself. She rubbed up against him and pulled him down to whisper naughty things in his ear. And the way she smiled at him? You’d have thought he was the only guy in the place.
All the other guys wanted to dance with her, but Travis kept her close. After the way he’d lost her there at first, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight again tonight.
She was so relaxed and easy, mugging for the cameras, but not too much. Just enough to be charming and playful and fun. She was drinking Coca-Cola, hadn’t had a single beer. Still, he couldn’t help wondering if she’d knocked back a little liquid courage when he wasn’t looking.
Once he even whispered, “Are you drunk?”
She laughed that magical, joyful laugh of hers. And then she kissed him—a deep, wet, amazing kiss that made him acutely aware of exactly how long it had been since he’d had sex with a woman.
And the way she felt in his arms when they danced?
So good. Just right. He could almost start wishing the night would never end.
At a little past midnight, with the band on a break, Giselle signaled them over again. She had two of the cameramen with her that time.
Travis knew what the casting director was up to. They were getting interviewed, an on-the-fly interview to test them both, to see if they had chemistry up close and personal, and to find out if Brenna could really shine with the camera focused right on her.
Giselle asked, “Brenna, how long have you two been together?”
Travis wanted to grab her and whisper that no matter what, she was amazing. If they made it or not, he’d owe her forever for this fine night at the Ace.
But then Brenna laughed. And he knew that she had them. “How long have Travis and I been together? Not nearly long enough, if you ask me.” She grabbed his arm and snuggled up close. “I have loved Travis Dalton since I was six years old,” she said dreamily. “That was the day that my mom let me ride my new bike on the Cedar Street sidewalk while she was shopping at Crawford’s General Store. It was the day that Angus McCauley pushed me off my bike and then rode away on it. I called Angus some bad names, but he didn’t come back. So I sat down on the sidewalk and burst into tears...”
It seemed to Travis at that moment that the whole place had gone quiet. People pressed close, but only so they could hear better as Brenna told them how Travis had appeared out of nowhere that day.
“He came like a knight in shining armor—except, you know, in dusty boots, jeans and a snap-front shirt.” She looked up at him with a glowing smile.
He brushed her lips with his, the light kiss so easy and natural, exactly right. He looked at the nearest camera. “I hate to see a little girl cry.”
Brenna went on with her story. “He picked me up and asked me if I was hurt. I showed him the scrape on my elbow where I’d hit the sidewalk when Angus pushed me down. Travis looked at it, all serious and frowning. He said, ‘You are a very brave little girl. Stay right here. I’ll get your bike.’ And he did just that. Not five minutes later, he came back around the corner of Cedar and North Buckskin Road, walking my bike. I ran to meet him, and that was when I told him I loved him and would marry him someday.”
“What did he say to that?” Giselle asked downright breathlessly.
Brenna let out a put-upon sigh. “He acted like I hadn’t said it. He did that a lot for the next twenty years or so.”
“She was too young for me,” Travis insisted, as he’d done more than once during the twenty years in question.
Brenna made a face at him. “The second time I said I loved him, I was eight and he was sixteen. That time, as it so happened, he’d just saved me from drowning in Rust Creek. I said, ‘Oh, Travis. I love you and I can’t wait to marry you!’ He just wrapped me in a blanket and drove me home. And then, when I was ten...”
He knew what was coming and couldn’t hold back a groan.
She nudged him with her shoulder. “Aurelia won’t mind. Remember, she got married and moved to Sioux Falls?”
Giselle, looking more eager than Travis had ever seen her, prompted, “So tell us what happened.”
“I caught them kissing, Travis and Aurelia.”
“Oh, no!” Gerry, the production assistant who stood at Giselle’s elbow, gave Travis a dirty look.
“Oh, yes,” said Brenna. “And okay, I was only ten, but still it destroyed me. It was in the summer, out at the county rodeo. Aurelia and Travis were both eighteen. Aurelia was so annoying. She had breasts and everything. I took one look at the two of them squishing their mouths together and felt my poor heart break clean in two.”
“Heartbreak?” Travis teased her. “Come on, admit it, Brenna. You were mad, not heartbroken.”
She gave a sniff, her cute nose in the air. “That was not anger, that was pure heartbreak, just like I said. Heartbreak that caused me to pick up a rock and throw it at Aurelia. I hit her in the shoulder.”
Travis elaborated, “Aurelia let out a yelp you could hear all the way to Kalispell.” He scolded Brenna gently, “You hit her pretty hard.”
“Well, I was upset and it seemed to me at the time that she deserved it.”
He shook his head. “You always did have a good arm on you, even when you were ten.”
“I remember she called me an evil little brat. And I turned to you and said, ‘Travis Dalton, what is the matter with you? You’re supposed to be waiting for me.’ I reminded you that I was already ten and it wouldn’t be long now—or it wouldn’t have been.”
“Except that you were so mad—”
“Correction. Brokenhearted. I was so brokenhearted, I ended it between us.”
“Bren. Come on. You were ten. I was eighteen. There was nothing to end.”
She put her finger to his lips. “Shh. I’m tellin’ this story.” And then she spoke to the camera again. “I said that on second thought, I hated him and I wasn’t going to marry him, after all, no matter if he crawled on his knees to me through razor blades and broken glass.”
He leaned in and told the camera confidentially, “She was always a bloodthirsty little thing.”
“Maybe. Now and then.” Brenna let out a rueful sigh. “Especially when the guy I love goes and breaks my heart.” Slowly, she grinned. “But then, look at us now.” She grabbed Travis closer. He went willingly. “Travis Dalton, I forgive you.”
“For...?”
“Not taking me seriously when I was six and breaking my poor heart when I was ten.”
He would have delivered a clever comeback for that one, but she went and offered up her sweet mouth. Comebacks could wait. He claimed her lips in another long, bone-melting kiss that brought a volley of applause and appreciative laughter from the circle of contestants and locals surrounding them.
When he lifted his head, she said, “Finally together, forever and ever.”
It was the perfect moment, the one Travis had been waiting for.
He dropped to his knees, reached in his pocket and took out the ring he’d slipped in there before driving out to the O’Reilly place to pick her up that night. That ring, bought in Kalispell that afternoon, had cost him more than half of his hard-earned savings. But he’d spent that money anyway, because the ring was as beautiful as she was and because it was important that they come across as the real thing.

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