The Maverick Fakes a Bride!

by Christine Rimmer

  Or she could go raw, put on some sort of jealous display to keep the story moving—the story of lovebirds Brenna and Travis and that man-stealer Summer.

  But no. It all felt way too real, and that wasn’t fun.

  Because she was jealous, and she hated that—despised it, even. She’d always been kind of a hothead, and she needed to keep a lid on that emotion. If she didn’t hold herself in check, she’d put a whupping on the rodeo star. Just what she needed, to end up on national TV catfighting over Trav. Her mom would never forgive her.

  Uh-uh. The game had turned too real. And for the moment anyway, Brenna refused to play.

  Instead, she faced front and showed the cameras nothing. When Trav appeared at her side, she managed to give him what she hoped passed for a welcoming smile. He draped an arm across her shoulders and pulled her close to press his lips to her hair. She felt his breath across her skin, the wonderful, hard weight of his arm on her shoulder. He smelled of mud and man. Longing burned through her.

  Somehow, she kept her expression composed. She laughed on cue when Jasper cracked a corny joke, sang along with the judges when they burst into a Tim McGraw song.

  There was no winner that night, and no one got eliminated. Jasper announced that points would accrue in a series of daylong challenges and the next elimination would be called with no warning.

  They were excused to rustle up dinner over the campfire, head for the showers and take turns at the green screen. Brenna’s OTF was all about Summer and Trav and what she thought the two of them were doing out alone together the whole day long.

  She answered in flat, short sentences: “I don’t know” and “You should ask them.”

  “You seem upset, Brenna.”

  “I’m not upset in the least.”

  “Do you have anything you’d like to say to Summer?”

  “I have nothing at all to say to Summer.”

  “Anything to say to Travis?”

  She aimed a giant smile at the camera. “Travis, I love you more than words can ever say.”

  * * *

  “You’re pissed at me, aren’t you?” Trav whispered.

  He’d come back from the showers a few minutes before. They were alone in their dark tent. She couldn’t stop thinking of Leah and Seth, of the love and honesty between them at the end.

  “Bren?”

  She turned her head away from him and closed her eyes. “Get some sleep.”

  “Come on.”

  “What.”

  “Just tell me. Are you pissed at me?”

  “Just leave it, will you please?”

  “Nothing happened with Summer. You gotta know that.” He launched into a way too detailed description of what he and the blonde had done all day, including tracking a heifer who’d lacerated her teat on a barbwire fence. “To make it all more fun, that heifer had run into a patch of blackberry canes. It was a mess.” He fell silent.

  Apparently, she was supposed to say something. “What do you want from me, Trav?”

  “You know I’ve got no interest in Summer Knight.”

  “I know. Can I go to sleep now, please?”

  “You know she does that—grabbing on to a man, blasting the movie-star smiles. It’s all part of her game, and it does nothing for me.”

  Her game. Brenna was sick to the core of the damn game. “Why are we talking about this?”

  “Because you’re pissed at me, and I can tell you’re pissed at me even though you keep trying to pretend you’re not.”

  “I’m tired. I want to go to sleep. Can we just table this crap for tonight?”

  A silence from him, a silence drawn tight as a wire. “Sure.”

  “Great. ’Night, then.” With a loud sigh, she turned her back to him and closed her eyes.

  * * *

  Trav lay wide-awake in the dark for a long time.

  What the hell was the matter with her, anyway? How was he responsible for the tricks Summer pulled? Bren knew that Summer’s behavior was in no way his fault. But still, Bren was mad at him.

  Even if she wouldn’t admit it outright.

  He hated that she was mad at him. It made him feel out of sorts and angry right back, and edgy. Way edgy. Like he had ants crawling under his skin.

  This whole thing was hard enough, being so close to her, knowing he couldn’t reach for her. Not in the dark. Not when they were alone, just the two of them, and she smelled of apple-scented shampoo, so close he could reach out and gather her to him.

  He could steal all the kisses he wanted when the cameras were watching, but not when they were alone. Because it wouldn’t be right and he only had one out-of-date condom—and yeah, he now knew for a fact that the condom was out of date. Because even though he’d made it clear that they wouldn’t be going there, he’d checked his wallet just to be sure. That condom had been ready for the trash two months ago.

  Not that it mattered. He was never making love to her anyway, as he reminded himself at least a hundred times a night.

  He turned on his side with his back to her, punched at the wadded-up T-shirt he was using as a pillow and shut his eyes good and tight.

  * * *

  The rules changed again the next day.

  They stood outside the canteen as always, and Jasper laid out the new rules. “As I explained yesterday, today you will be judged and given points toward the next win and elimination. However, as an extra incentive to excellence, your day’s work will also be a mini challenge. The winner today gets a night for two at the lodge. You’ll stay in the Big Sky suite, finest suite in the house, and you’ll share a gourmet dinner for two in the dining room.

  “Each team will get four separate challenges. Teams will have until exactly 4:00 p.m. to tackle and complete these tasks. You will each be judged separately on how much you accomplish and how well you do each job, but you still have to work together to finish each task before moving on to the next one.”

  “If I win, do I get to choose who goes to the lodge with me?” Summer asked way too sweetly.

  Jasper tipped his big black hat to her. “You do indeed.”

  “Wonderful.” She flicked a flirty glance at Trav, followed by an evil grin at Brenna.

  Oh, please. Brenna met those green eyes directly and refused to be baited.

  This time, they drew their work partners and their job assignments from Jasper’s hat. Brenna drew first. She unfolded the scrap of paper and read her new partner’s name out loud. “Summer Knight.”

  Total setup. Just Roger and the writers, creating opportunities for sparks to fly. Brenna reminded herself that nobody had promised her this would be fair.

  Summer stepped to her side and offered her hand. “Hey, partner.”

  Brenna made herself take it. “A pleasure to be working with you.” She half expected lightning to strike her dead on the spot for telling such a whopping lie.

  Trav drew next. He got Roberta. Steve drew Wally’s name. And Fred ended up partnered with his son Rob.

  Next, the partners drew the work assignments. Rusty Boles offered Summer his upturned hat, and she drew out a folded slip of paper. Opening it, she read, “‘One: clear mud and debris out of the east section of the west pasture ditch. Two: paint the exterior of the tool shed behind the blue barn. Three: paint the interior of same. Fourth challenge TBD as needed.’”

  Brenna said, “I’m guessing there’s some doubt we’ll make it to the fourth task.”

  Summer sent her a mean little glare. “I am winnin’ that night at the lodge, so don’t you dare be a slacker.”

  Brenna considered how satisfying it would be to slap the woman silly, but she settled for a saccharine smile and said, “You certainly are motivated. I like that in a partner. If only you weren’t so badly brought up, I’m thinking you and me w
ould get along just fine.”

  Summer gasped. The whole group seemed to freeze in place, waiting for the fight to start.

  Trav opened his mouth to speak, but Brenna shot him a glare and he kept quiet. She turned back to Summer and stared the blonde square in the eye. Bring it on.

  But Summer turned to Jasper. “Can we get going? We’ve only got till four.”

  So Brenna wouldn’t be taking Summer down this morning, after all. She couldn’t decide whether she felt relieved or disappointed.

  Jasper called Roberta, Wally and Rob forward. They drew the tasks for their teams.

  Then Jasper announced, “Necessary tools and equipment are ready at the task sites. A task is not considered finished until you clean up after yourselves, which means returning all equipment and checking it in here at the canteen. Good luck, everyone.” He pulled a pistol from the holster at his hip and aimed it skyward. “Ready, set...go!” The shot rang out.

  They all took off running, each team in a different direction, followed by a scattering of cameramen and Anthony’s assistants. Brenna and Summer beat feet to the west, jumping a pasture fence to get to the assigned ditch, where a wrangler waited with shovels, hoes and work gloves.

  Summer pointed. “You start from that end and I’ll start back there.” She aimed her thumb over her shoulder. “We’ll meet in the middle.”

  Seemed like a good plan to Brenna. Unless one of them came up against some obstruction too big to handle alone, they wouldn’t even have to be near each other for most of the job. “Works for me.” She took a pair of gloves, a shovel and a hoe and headed to her end.

  Brenna worked hard and fast. She kind of hated to admit it, but Summer did, too. A couple of sweaty, dirty hours later, they had that ditch running again. Covered in mud and not even caring, they grabbed their tools and made for the canteen, where a wrangler logged in the equipment.

  As soon as that was done, Brenna and Summer whirled and raced for the shed behind the blue barn. The wrangler waiting there had cans of blue paint, brushes, drop cloths, rags and a couple of lightweight ladders.

  Thank God the shed wasn’t that big. Even better, it was already scraped and primed. And there wasn’t a separate trim color. Everything would be blue, including the door on the south wall.

  Too bad they had to use brushes. That would take longer than spraying or rolling—not that Brenna’s opinion of how best to do the job meant squat to anyone at this point.

  They each took a wall and got going.

  Three hours passed before the lunch bell rang.

  Covered in mud from the first challenge and dotted with spatters of blue paint, Summer peeked around the corner of the shed. “You hungry?”

  Brenna wiped a drip of paint off the end of her nose with the back of her hand. “Hell, no.”

  They painted through lunch. When the shed was covered in fresh blue paint, Brenna asked the wrangler, “Won’t we need all this stuff to paint the inside?”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s part of the task to check in the equipment at the end of each job.”

  She considered calling the guy a few bad names, but she didn’t want to waste the energy it would take. She and Summer slammed the lids back on the paint cans, grabbed everything but the ladders and made for the canteen.

  The wrangler there reminded them that they needed to bring in the ladders, too. They raced for the shed, shouldered the ladders and hauled them back to the canteen.

  Finally the wrangler checked them in—and then hit them with the news that they would need those ladders for the interior of the shed. “You can go ahead and take them back with you.”

  Summer made a growling sound. “There is crap and there is crap. And this is crap.”

  “Totally,” muttered Brenna. She didn’t like Summer, but the rodeo star spoke the truth, and Brenna felt honor bound to register solidarity on the issue of crap.

  “Take ’em or don’t,” replied the wrangler. “It’s up to you.”

  What could they do? They needed the ladders, even if they had to haul them back and forth across a pasture for no apparent reason other than to piss them off, wear them out and make them suffer. Because that made good drama. And reality TV was all about good drama.

  Shouldering the ladders, they trudged to the shed. The wrangler was waiting for them inside with equipment identical to what they’d used on the exterior. Except that the paint was white.

  Brenna looked on the bright side. At least the guy offered them bottled water.

  They drank the water and got to work.

  An hour or so later, the chuck wagon bell rang for a mini challenge.

  Summer asked, “You going?”

  “And win what? A camp pillow? No, thanks.”

  They kept painting until the interior of the shed was white. Again, it took two trips to the canteen to get everything turned in.

  Spurs jingled as Jasper entered the canteen, a cameraman close on his heels. “Congratulations, ladies. It’s five after three, and you’ve completed three tasks out of four.” He gave them each a bottle of water. “Drink up, because you need to stay hydrated.” As they guzzled the water, he continued, “And now for your fourth and final challenge...”

  * * *

  First, Jasper magnanimously announced that, due to the distance between the canteen and their final challenge, this time they would not be required to turn in their equipment, which consisted of a length of rope for each of them.

  Outside, a pickup waited. They jumped in the back for a bouncy ride to their destination. A wrangler and a couple of cameramen went with them, filming them through the fifteen-minute trip.

  Summer was a mess, spattered with mud, blue and white paint speckling her hair. Brenna knew she looked no better.

  They stopped for the wrangler to jump out and open a gate, and then they were off across the pasture. Cows and their calves lifted their heads from the grass, ears twitching as they watched the truck go by. They crested a rise, and she spotted the crew below them on the bank of a muddy pond. One of Anthony’s assistants and more cameras were waiting there to shoot their fourth challenge.

  The pickup pulled to a stop. “Let’s go,” said the wrangler.

  They all jumped down from the bed.

  In the middle of the pond, on a small, soggy-looking scrub-grass island, two cows and their calves huddled, bawling unhappily. The muddy wranglers watching from the water’s edge must have dragged the poor critters out there. And for the fourth challenge, it was Brenna and Summer’s job to get them all safely back to dry land.

  The sound guys stole several minutes of their time wrapping their body mic transmitters in plastic bags and taping the microphones behind their ears. “Try to keep your heads above water,” one of them suggested.

  Both Brenna and Summer laughed at that one.

  “It’s three thirty,” announced the assistant director. “You have half an hour, ladies.”

  They looped their ropes around their necks and under one arm and waded in.

  Their boots made sucking sounds in the muddy bottom as they slogged toward the island. Twenty feet from the bank, the bottom fell out from under them as the pond got too deep to stand. Brenna’s boots dragged on her, but it wasn’t too bad.

  They were still a good two hundred feet away from the island—way too far to swim back to the shallows and use their ropes. Plus, roping presented some other problems. Calves followed their mamas, so they would need to rope the cows. No way could Brenna pull thirteen hundred pounds of unwilling beef into the pond.

  That left plan B. Treading water, Brenna suggested, “We could swim around behind them.”

  Summer thought that over. “Nobody said we had to use the ropes.”

  “Exactly.” Contrary to popular belief, cattle were smart, social creatures. They could swim just fine—
when provided with the proper motivation. “But one of them could be a kicker,” Brenna warned.

  Summer grunted. “Time’s running out. I say we take our chances.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s do it.”

  Brenna went left; Summer went right. They swam around the island and climbed out behind the animals, who turned their heads to eye them with suspicion. Brenna moved toward one cow, while Summer advanced on the other one.

  It only took a couple of well-timed smacks on the rump to get the mamas moving. Neither of them kicked, thank God. The cows bawled in annoyance, but they got in the water, their calves following close behind.

  Piece of cake. The animals swam straight for the cameras. Summer and Brenna slid into the pond after them and swam for shore behind them. Both cows and one calf made it all the way to the bank without incident.

  The second calf got stuck trying to get his footing when he reached the shallows. All it took was Brenna’s boost on his bony behind and he was up and staggering toward his mama on the bank. He made it, too.

  Brenna stood in a foot and a half of water, soaking wet with a soggy rope around her neck. Her hands braced on her hips, she called to the crew on the bank. “Did we make it in time?”

  The assistant director gave her a thumbs-up.

  She let out a whoop of triumph—right before Summer shoved her hard from behind.

  Chapter Ten

  Brenna’s whoop turned to a startled cry. She staggered forward, barely saving herself from a face-plant in pond water. Whirling on the other woman, she flipped her wet braid back over her shoulder and demanded, “What the hell, Summer?”

  Summer only stepped up—and shoved her backward, hard, with both hands.

  Brenna went down, sprawling backward, the water closing over her—until she got her feet under her and popped upright again. She pushed at the constraining rope, getting it up and over her head, tossing it away from her as she sputtered, “What is the matter with you?”