The Maverick Fakes a Bride!

by Christine Rimmer

  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 strai
ght 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 anyth
ing. 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.”

  * * *