The Maverick Fakes A Bride!. Christine Rimmer
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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.”
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