A temporary marriage was simply a bridge too far.
Her stomach felt hollowed out, and her brain refused to function. She tried to pull her hand free of Travis’s hold.
He didn’t let go. He said to Roger and the others, “We would need to talk to our lawyer first.”
Our lawyer? What lawyer? Brenna didn’t have a lawyer. Or did he mean his dad, Ben, who ran a law office in town?
Bad idea. Ben, like the rest of Trav’s family and hers, thought that she and Travis were really engaged. It wasn’t right to put their secret on poor Ben. She sent Travis a frantic look. He gazed back at her steadily. Cool as they came.
Brenna got the message. If she was going to freak out, she should do it in private. First rule of reality TV: save the drama for the cameras and never let the suits see you sweat.
Was that two rules?
Whatevs.
And okay. Maybe not Ben, but seeing a lawyer for this problem wasn’t a bad idea. Some of the other finalists were pros at the reality show game. They had agents and lawyers advising them on their every move. Well, she and Travis had a right to a little legal advice, too—like how bad would it be to sign the marriage clause and then not follow through if it came to that?
She sucked in a slow breath and put on her game face. “Yes.” She backed Travis up. “Our lawyer would have to advise us on something like this.”
Roger nodded. “That’s wise. Call in your attorney. We’ll need your decision by tomorrow at noon.”
* * *
They took their blue folders and went straight upstairs from the meeting. Brenna wanted to break something. She wanted to throw back her head and let out a scream.
Travis followed her into her room. The second the door clicked shut, she whirled on him. “We can’t get married, and no way are we calling your dad about this.”
“Bren,” he said, using a soft, coaxing tone suitable for soothing riled horses. “Slow down. First things first.”
She eyed him sideways, ready to bolt. “What things?”
He tipped his head at the small table by the window. “We sit down, we read what it says on page twelve and then we discuss.”
She glared. “Discuss? There’s nothing to discuss. We’re not getting fake married, because you can’t get fake married. If we get married on The Great Roundup, it will be for real and then we’ll end up having to get a divorce. Trav, I don’t want to be someone who’s gotten divorced. Especially not when I haven’t even really been married.”
Instead of answering her, he turned and walked away.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
At the table, he set down the blue folders, one at each of the two chairs. “Come here. Sit down.”
She folded her arms protectively across her middle and aimed her chin high. “Not doing it. Just not.”
He came toward her again, his blue eyes holding hers, a slight smile curving those sexy lips of his. “Bren.”
“I just don’t feel right about it, Travis. I really don’t.”
He took her by the shoulders and dipped his dark head close. “One step at a time. There’s no win in just rushing to a negative conclusion.”
“I can’t help it. Negative is how I feel. I hate this. Hate. It. Am I making myself clear?”
He squeezed her shoulders. “Stop freaking out. We’ll read what it says in the contract and then we’ll call Ryan and find out what our options are.”
“Wait a minute.” She blinked up at him. “You mean Ryan Roarke?”
“Yep.”
She had to admit that calling Ryan wasn’t a half-bad idea. Ryan was married to Travis’s cousin Kristen. The couple lived in Kalispell now, and Ryan had a small practice there. But before he came to Montana, Kristen’s husband used to be a lawyer in LA. “I think I heard he was in entertainment law when he lived in California...”
“Exactly. He’s an expert on just this sort of thing.”
“If he’s available on zero notice.”
“He’s a good guy. He’ll come right over if he possibly can.”
Ryan had experience. A marriage clause in a reality show contract wouldn’t be all that shocking to him. Somehow, it didn’t seem quite as bad to consider consulting with Ryan as it would be to have to face Travis’s dad.
“Bren,” Travis said again, so softly. “We really need to run the contracts by a professional, anyway. And Ryan will be bound by attorney-client privilege. He’s not telling our secrets to anybody.”
“I know that.”
“Come here.” He pulled her close. She surrendered to his offer of comfort, sliding her arms around his lean waist and laying her cheek against his hard chest. “One step at a time,” he whispered and stroked a hand down her hair.
She breathed in his woodsy scent. “Right. Okay. We call Ryan and we ask for his help.”
* * *
“My advice, if you sign,” said Ryan, “is that you need to be ready to follow through with the on-camera wedding.”
Travis glanced at Brenna. She didn’t look happy, but at least she seemed calmer now. For a while there he’d been afraid she might run out the door and keep running all the way to the O’Reilly place, taking their chance at The Great Roundup along with her.
Brenna said, “What if we sign and then don’t follow through?”
Ryan lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Expect a lawsuit. One you will lose. The terms here are very clear. If Real Deal Entertainment chooses to activate this clause, you’re legally bound to do what you agreed to do. You have to marry on the show and then remain legally married until March 31 of next year.”
“The final show’s airing around Christmas—or I think that’s the plan, anyway,” Travis said. “So that we have to stay married until spring makes sense, I guess. They would want us married for at least a few months after the whole country gets a front-row seat at our wedding.”
Ryan focused on the contract in front of him again and then looked up. “It doesn’t require that you live together, though. That means you can essentially go your separate ways as soon as filming wraps.”
“That’s such a relief,” muttered Brenna, clearly meaning it was anything but.
Ryan raked a hank of dark hair off his forehead. It fell right back across his brow. “Just curious. What happens if you tell them you’re not willing to sign this clause?”
“Best guess?” asked Brenna. At Ryan’s nod, she continued, “There are four of us still to be eliminated from the cast of the show. If we don’t sign the marriage clause, Trav and I will be two of the four who have to go.”
“But you don’t know that for certain. I’m just saying there are unknowns in this equation. Maybe they’re bluffing you and they plan to hire one or the other or both of you even if you won’t sign on for a wedding. You could bluff back.”
Travis glanced across at Brenna. Those sea-blue eyes were waiting. She slowly shook her head. He took her meaning as clearly as if she’d spoken aloud—and he agreed with her, too. If they didn’t sign on to be married, this adventure was over.
After Ryan left, Travis suggested, “Let’s go downstairs to the Manor Bar. At a time like this, what you need is a big burger and a double order of fries.” When she only shook her head again, he came up with a second option. “Or we can call Steve and Roberta, see if they want to hang out for a while.”
Brenna sank to the side of her bed. “You go ahead. I need a little time, you know, to think this over.”
He wanted to coax her some more, see if he could snap her out of this dark mood of hers. Even if this was the end—and damn it, he hoped not—he hated to see her so down.
“Please,” she said. “Just go.”
So he left her. He worked out in the basement gym to take some of the tension off. When he came back upstairs, he foun
d a Do Not Disturb sign on her door.
He had a shower and then called Steve. They met up with old Wally Wilson and a couple of other finalists for burgers and fries in the bar. After the meal, they went up to Wally’s room and played poker till a little after eleven.
When Travis returned to his room that time, he found the Do Not Disturb sign still hanging on Brenna’s door.
Well, all right then. If she wanted to brood all night, fine. He was done trying to cheer the woman up. He left her alone.
After changing into sweats and a T-shirt, he stretched out on the bed and channel surfed for a while. Somehow, he managed to resist the temptation to knock on the door between their rooms. At some point, he must have dropped off to sleep.
He jerked awake to the sound of someone tapping on the interior door.
“Trav?”
He blinked to clear the sleep from his brain. “Brenna?” Was he dreaming?
More tapping. “Travis, can I come in?”
He jumped up so fast he tripped over his boots, which he’d dropped at the side of the bed. A string of curse words escaped him as he grabbed the bedpost, barely keeping himself from landing face-first on the floor.
“Trav?”
“Coming!” Flicking the lock, he hauled back the door. Her side was already open.
She stood there in the same Bushwacker shirt she’d been wearing the morning he took her from her parents’ house. Her hair was a wild red tangle around her pale, serious face.
She swallowed hard. And then, out of nowhere, she said, “I got arrested in Juárez.”
He tried to think of what to say to that. She looked so fragile right then, like if he touched her she might shatter into a million little pieces and he’d never get her put back together again. He was still trying to figure out how to offer her comfort when she opened her mouth and the story just came spilling out.
“I wasn’t even supposed to be in Juárez, you know? It was a trip with my girlfriends to El Paso.” She rattled off three names he vaguely recognized, girls who had gone to Rust Creek Falls High. None of them lived in town anymore. “It was a reunion trip, me and my girls from back in school. Leonie lives in El Paso now, so we all met up there. We were hanging out, seeing the sights. I fell asleep in the backseat and the next thing I knew, it was dark and Leonie was parking the car not far from this Juárez dive.”
He got the picture. “You’d crossed the border while you were sleeping?”
“Exactly. I started to argue that we shouldn’t even be there. Marlena said they were going in and I could sit in the car if I wanted to. And I...well, the street was dark and I didn’t want to sit there alone. But it was more than that. You know me. We were already there and it was kind of dangerous and exciting...”
He took her sweet face between his two hands. “Hey. It’s me, Travis, you’re talking to here.”
“Oh, Trav...”
“I get it. You don’t have to explain. You didn’t want to sit out in the car in the dark—and you were curious, so you went in with them.”
She held his eyes. “Yeah, I went in. And at first it was fine, not much different than a Friday night at the Ace, just with everyone speaking Spanish and Tejano music on the jukebox. But then it turned out some kind of a drug deal was going down. There was shouting and then shooting. The police showed up and hauled everyone in the place to jail.”
He let his hands trail down to her shoulders and then took her arm. “Come on.” She let him pull her to the edge of his unmade bed, and she sat when he gently pushed her down. “Were you hurt?”
She shook her head. “We were all okay. Just terrified. They kept us in that jail for three days, in a big holding cell full of desperate-looking women. I got questioned a few times. They were trying to figure out who was in on the drug deal, I think. Finally, they let us make a phone call each. And in the end, my dad and Ronan had to fly down and bail me out. It was awful. I’ve never seen my dad so disappointed in me. And my mom...she didn’t speak to me for weeks. Because, you know, we are O’Reillys. And an O’Reilly doesn’t get herself arrested in a Juárez dive bar. That just doesn’t happen. After that, I swore off adventure and taking chances. I promised myself and my family that I was settling down.”
He put his arm around her and pulled her close to his side. Truth was, he liked how she fit there—maybe too much. “And now here you are, running off with troublesome Travis Dalton to be on a reality show.”
“Yeah.” She sagged against him, her head tipped down. “You said it.” But then she looked up at him. Now those eyes blazed blue fire. “I want it, Trav. I really, really want it. I want to be on The Great Roundup with you. I want us to win a million bucks.”
He smoothed a hand down her sleep-scrambled hair. It snapped with electricity under his palm. Damn. They were doing this. They were really doing this. “I hear you. I get you. I do.”
“I want it enough that I’m willing to sign the marriage clause, willing to go through with the wedding if we have to.” Her eyes were enormous oceans of blue. “Because if we have to get married, that means we win, right—or at least that we get really close?”
“That’s right. That is exactly what it means.” But now he felt wary. Now that she knew what she wanted, his conscience had suddenly decided to kick in. He couldn’t help wondering if this was the right thing to do.
She saw the change in him. “Uh-uh. Don’t you back down now, Travis Dalton. Don’t you dare.”
“I just want you to be sure, that’s all.”
“I am sure.”
“I want it bad, too, but you have to be all in with this. If they make us get married, we’ll be going through with it. And then, next spring, we’ll be getting a divorce. And not only do O’Reillys not get arrested in Juárez dive bars...”
“An O’Reilly does not get divorced,” she finished for him. “I know it. It’s all I’ve been thinking about all day and all night. And you know what? I still want this. I want to get on that show and I want to win. And that is why we are doing this.”
His heart beat a triumphant tattoo under his ribs. “You’re certain, then?”
“I’m positive. Tomorrow we tell them we’re signing the marriage clause.”
* * *
At noon the next day, Travis and Brenna signed their contracts.
At three, the final four contestants were eliminated. Brenna and Travis, Steve, Roberta, Wally and Summer Knight all made the cast.
Roger, the field producer, gave a little pep talk, finishing with, “Congratulations to all of you. Relax and rest up tomorrow, get in touch with your loved ones and share your big news. On Monday, you’ll all be going on location. And on Tuesday, filming begins.”
Rest? Brenna couldn’t rest. That night, she did a lot of pillow punching and no sleeping. She couldn’t stop second-guessing her choice to sign the marriage clause.
In the morning, she looked bad, with some serious dark circles under her eyes, but she hadn’t changed her mind about her ultimate choice. The show would be the experience of a lifetime—and a way to finance her plans for the future.
Also, well, who could say what would happen? Even if she or Travis won, the show’s story could change and they wouldn’t have to get married, after all. As of now, though, her choice had been made and she was through stewing over it. She showered and dressed and put on more makeup than usual—enough to cover the evidence of her restless night.
Travis, on the other hand, looked fresh and ready for anything when she opened the inner door to him. Apparently, second thoughts hadn’t messed with his sleep.
He breezed into her room. “I could eat a side of beef. Let’s order up some breakfast.” He grabbed the room service menu off the table. Really, the man ate like there was no tomorrow and remained lean, his muscles sharply cut, not an ounce of fat on him.
“Where do you put it all, that’s what I want to know?”
Travis only chuckled and picked up the phone.
An hour later, their plates were empty. They sat at the table enjoying second cups of coffee, trying to decide how to spend their last day at the Manor.
There was a tap on the door. Assuming it would be Steve or Roberta, Brenna jumped up to answer.
She opened the door to find her sister Fallon on the other side. With a happy cry, she reached for a hug, then stepped back and pulled her baby sister into the room. “It’s so good to see you. When did you get back from Florida?”
“Yesterday.”
“You didn’t call.”
“I thought I’d surprise you.” Fallon spotted Travis. “Hey, Travis.”
He got up and hugged her, too. “How was Disney World?”
Fallon, tall and slim as a willow wand, her hair a riot of O’Reilly-red curls and her china-blue eyes shining bright, had never looked happier. “The kids ran us ragged.” The triplets were just fourteen months old. “We loved every minute of it.” She gave Trav a radiant smile that wavered a little when she added, “I understand congratulations are in order.”
“Thanks.” Travis played his part so perfectly. He reached out a hand and Brenna went to him, tucking herself up close to his side as though she was born to be there. And truthfully, sometimes she could almost believe that he actually did love her, that they were finally really together and nothing could ever drag them apart. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips so warm and soft. “I snagged the pot of gold with this one, that’s for sure—and I’ll get out of here and let you two catch up.”
“It’s good to see you, Travis,” said Fallon as he turned for the inside door to his room.
He paused in the doorway. “You, too. You look great, Fallon. I can see that married life is working for you. My best to Jamie.”
“I’ll tell him you said hi.”
With a last nod, Travis went into his room, pulling the door shut behind him.
“Coffee?” Brenna offered. “There’s some in the carafe.”
The Maverick Fakes a Bride! Page 7