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Contents:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16
Epilogue
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Chapter 1
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"Here they are, your Meg and Mel in the Morning co-hosts, Meg Delancy and Mel Harrison!"
Beaming at the wildly applauding studio audience, Meg bounced onto the set followed by a suave and smiling Mel. Meg had to act as if she hadn't seen the ratings and didn't know their number-one rank was in danger.
Nobody seemed to know why, either.
But rumors flew, including the one implying that the chemistry wasn't right between her and Mel. If a studio exec believed that for a minute, Meg would be the one to go. Mel had established the show eight years ago and nobody would be looking to replace silver-haired Mel Harrison.
She would not lose this job.
At a tender age, sitting spellbound by Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Rogers, she'd announced that someday she'd have her own television show. Her parents had laughed.
When she'd insisted on turning their Brooklyn living room into a studio and interviewing the neighbors in front of whatever audience she could drag in, her family had thought it was cute. But they'd never taken her seriously.
As she'd persisted in her goal through high school and even college, their indulgence had turned to alarm. Nobody they knew had ever succeeded in the entertainment field. They predicted she'd fail and suggested nursing, teaching, banking, anything but her crazy notion. Even her best friends had advised her to try something less ambitious. At their warnings, she'd become even more determined.
Then she'd landed a gofer job on what was then Marnie and Mel in the Morning. Working tirelessly, she'd eventually made it to the tech crew, but she considered it only a step on her way to the co-host chair. Marnie's emergency appendectomy gave Meg a chance to substitute for the star, and Marnie's decision to leave the show for a role in a feature film left the spot open. Meg convinced Mel to give it to her.
Her family and friends still didn't quite believe it. Meg knew they expected her newfound fame to evaporate any minute. She'd be damned if she'd let that happen.
As the applause from the studio audience continued, pumped up off-camera by executive producer Sharon Dempsey, Meg and Mel settled into their cushy seats and picked up the mugs waiting for them on the low coffee table.
Mel took a sip from his mug of water colored to look like coffee and turned to Meg. "Great weekend in Manhattan, huh?" he said. By custom, he usually had the opening line of the show. "Halloween parties galore, and it was actually warm for a change. Here it is November first, and no snow. So, did you have a good weekend?"
"Friday night I went out with my girlfriends, but the fish weren't biting, if you know what I mean."
"Too bad. What about Saturday?"
"I watched my DVD of The Mummy. Alone." She took a swallow of her watered-down diet cola, pretending to savor something that tasted like mouthwash. Her lack of a social life was a running gag on the show, but she was getting sick of it. She had no one to blame but herself, though. Focusing on this job had left no time for cultivating a relationship.
"I thought you watched that movie last weekend."
"So I have a crush on Brendan Fraser." But she would rather have spent the night with a guy who wasn't an image on her TV screen. Ironically, now that she'd reached her goal, she'd discovered that being Mel's co-host came with certain restrictions.
Despite the sexual banter they occasionally shared on the show, Mel was a conservative guy. A torrid affair that scorched the pages of The Enquirer could get her fired. To keep her girl-next-door image, she'd have to zoom from first date to safely married.
In truth, she didn't want to marry anyone until she'd established herself as a TV personality which could take several years. Only then might she be in the market. A husband and kids would be nice—if she could juggle a family and work. A husband would have to know going in that she wasn't giving up her career.
Mel clucked his tongue and looked fatherly. "I don't know what's wrong with the eligible bachelors around here. A gorgeous redhead like you, they should be lined up outside your apartment door."
"Maybe all the good ones are taken. I'm guessing you went to a Halloween party?" In contrast to Meg with her nonexistent social life, Mel and his wife never seemed to stay home.
"Evie and I went to a great costume party at the Starlight Room. And I have to tell you, the hit of the night was a guy who came as a cowboy, all duded up. He even did rope tricks. The women swooned."
Meg put a hand to her heart and sighed. "I love cowboys, especially when they wear those tight jeans that show off their terrific … personalities." She waggled her eyebrows and the audience laughed.
In truth she did have a real crush on cowboy types. Her dad had tuned in everything Western on TV, from reruns of Gunsmoke to all the Clint Eastwood spaghetti Westerns, and with only one TV set in the house, she'd watched with him. The heroes had seemed exotic and so removed from her life that they'd become a secret fantasy.
"Unfortunately, turns out this cowboy was gay."
"You see? See what I mean? Taken or gay. At least that's the way it seems in New York." Meg decided to ad-lib. "Maybe I need to go out West and find myself a rope-twirling, spur-jingling, heterosexual-to-the-core cowboy."
Mel shook his perfectly coiled head. "No such thing anymore. That's all Hollywood stuff."
"I don't believe it. I'll bet the West is still chock-full of sexy cowboys, swaggering around in snug denim with their thumbs hooked through their belt loops. Yum"
"I'm afraid that dream cowboy is a myth," Mel said. "But speaking of myths and cowboys, we have the perfect guest today. Lord of the Rings and Hidalgo star Viggo Mortensen is here to talk about his next project. Now there's a fantasy cowboy for you, Meg. I assume you saw Viggo in Hidalgo?"
"Six times."
"Thought so. We also have Snoop Dogg paying us a long-overdue visit, plus we've discovered a magician who's performing street shows all over town. If you haven't seen him yet, he'll truly astound you. We'll be back, right after this."
The moment the commercial break started, Sharon hurried over clutching her earphones to her head as if she couldn't believe the info coming through them. "You guys, the phones are lighting up! Everyone wants to see Meg go out West and look for her cowboy!"
Meg laughed. "Oh, sure, that's gonna happen. It was just a joke. I've never been out West, and I have no intention of—"
"Think again," Sharon said. "We need a shot in the arm, and this could be it!"
"You know, it's not a bad idea," Mel said. "Not bad at all."
"It's a great idea!" Sharon glowed with excitement. "How about this—we call it the search for the Hottest Cowboy in the West."
Mel nodded. "I like it already."
Meg wasn't liking it at all. Leaving the studio was a bad idea. Temporary replacements could become permanent fixtures if you left. "I don't know about this, Sharon. I think we should consider it more carefully."
"We'll iron out the details when we have more time, but I'm getting goose bumps, which means this is a dynamite concept. I can see you going remote with Jamie. You'll find candidates, and then we bring them on the show and the audience votes for the winner. We'll have a big cash prize and tons of promo. Is that awesome, or what?"
Meg didn't hear much besides the phrase going remote. "But I can't leave the show to run around looking for cowboys."
"Sure you can," Mel said. "For a few days. Shar's right. This could be exactly what we need to boost the ratings."
"But who would you get to co-host while I'm gone?" But she already knew. Mona Swift. She'd been the runner-up for the job a year ago, and
she was hovering like a vulture waiting for Meg to fail. Mona even had the right first initial to slide right into the co-host's chair. Before Meg could blink, it would be Mona and Mel in the Morning.
"We'd get Mona," Shar said. "I'm sure she'd be happy to fill in for a little while."
No kidding. She'd be shickled titless to take my job away permanently. "Listen, this will cost way too much money. Food, lodging—"
"No, it won't," Mel said. "We'll get ranches to donate space to hold the competition. If we set it up alphabetically, we could even start with George's ranch in Arizona. He'd love the publicity."
Meg made one last appeal, focusing desperately on Mel. "It'll really shake up the routine. You know how you hate change."
"Yeah, I hate change, but I hate sagging ratings worse. The fact is, I agree totally with Sharon on this. You need to go out there, Meg."
And that, Meg knew, was the end of that. Mel had spoken.
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"Me and my big freakin' mouth!" Meg stared out the window of the communications van she and Jamie had rented from an affiliate in Phoenix. They were now somewhere south of Tucson, going to George's ranch. George, multimillionaire and poker buddy of Mel, had bought the place as an investment and was sitting on it waiting for prices to go up. He rarely visited. Meg could understand why.
Jamie sighed and shook his head. "Are you gonna bitch for the entire two weeks? Because I can match you bitch for bitch. Alison and I are in a very tricky stage of our relationship. Anything could happen while I'm gone."
"I know, I know. But which is more important, Alison giving in to the temptation to date somebody else, or Mona taking permanent possession of my co-host chair? I mean, you could make a play to get Alison back. I'm sure you could get Alison back." She thought Jamie, short and wiry, was perfect for Alison, who was short and plump. They both had the same kind of curly dark hair and they'd produce adorable children someday.
"Thanks for assuming I'll have to try and get her back. Thanks a hell of a lot. And for the record, I don't think Mona can steal your job. You have a solid fan base. Besides, I predict the camera's going to pick up on her insincerity. You've made it because you're sincere."
"Correction, I haven't made it. Ratings are down. But I can tell you that I sincerely hate being here." She waved a hand at the scenery. "Will you look at this countryside? There is nothing out here. No Bloomie's, no Saks. Just mountains, hills and windmills."
"Cowboy country."
"Will you stop saying that? I like my cowboys in the middle of Madison Square Garden, not in the middle of nowhere. I'm never ad-libbing on the show again. Never. It was supposed to be a joke—me, the ultimate city girl, combing the boonies for a date."
"It is a joke. That's why it's such a great idea. I just wish they'd assigned Dave or Wayne to this gig instead of me."
Meg glanced at him, taking pity on the poor guy. "For what it's worth, I'm glad they sent you. I don't get along with Dave or Wayne anything like I do with you."
"Hey, you're all right, too, but I'm at risk of losing Alison while we trot around God's country. Sharon might have fired me if I'd refused, though, so here I am."
"Yeah, where are we, anyway?" Meg picked up the map from the floor of the van.
"We're coming up on the bustling metropolis of Sonoita."
"Where is it?" Meg squinted through the windshield as the late-afternoon sun cast a melon-colored glow over a crossroads with no stoplight. "There're, like, five or six buildings at this intersection."
"Behold Sonoita."
"You're kidding, right? There's more to it down the road."
"I don't think so, Meg. This looks about the way they described it to me in Phoenix. At the intersection we go left about two miles, hang a right, and we'll be at the Circle W."
Meg let out a wail. "There's no downtown! There's not even a mall! Where am I supposed to get my lattes? I'm on the damned set of Gunsmoke!"
Jamie grinned. "Wish I had that on tape. The viewers would love it."
Meg blew out a breath and flopped back against the seat. "The viewers are so not going to have the satisfaction of seeing me whine, Jamie Cranston, so forget about it." She laid her head back. "But I would kill for a steaming mochaccino right now."
"You never know. They might have all the amenities at the Circle W."
Meg stared bleakly at the rolling brown hills. She'd seen enough Westerns on TV to know that was highly unlikely. "Don't bet on it, Jamie, my boy. Don't bet on it."
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Clint had hoped some hard labor followed by a hot shower would improve his mood, but he was still pissed. George Forester might own the Circle W now. He might pay Clint's salary, plus the salaries of the other hands. But he had no right to turn the historic ranch into a media playground.
Good thing that Clint's dad hadn't lived to see this. And as for Clint's great-grandfather, a self-made man who'd built the ranch from nothing to what had once been the finest spread in Sonoita—Clint didn't even want to imagine what Clemson Walker would have had to say about this television stunt.
Clint didn't have the power to stop it, but he planned to stay the hell out of the limelight. A little voice in his head kept whispering that there was a cash prize involved, and Clint needed cash if he ever expected to buy back the ranch. Then he'd think of what he'd have to do for a chance at that cash and his blood would run cold.
He'd received a letter outlining the whole procedure. Meg Delancy and her cameraman would visit seven Western states, beginning alphabetically with Arizona. Using a local ranch as a base, Meg would hold a competition open to any cowboy living in the state. She'd watch them rope and ride first and conduct personal interviews afterward. Three finalists from each state would appear on TV in New York, where the viewers would choose the winner.
Yeah, the cash prize would be a help to him, but it wouldn't be enough to buy back the ranch. Considering that he'd have to parade himself in front of a TV camera in order to have a chance to win, the money didn't seem nearly enough. Some guys said the prize would be only the beginning, that the winner would be able to parlay the TV appearance into something more, like commercials.
That concept really gave Clint the shakes. He'd rather ride a killer bull than speak lines in front of a television camera. Even worse would be carrying around the designation of Hottest Cowboy in the West. He'd die of embarrassment.
No, he'd have to stick to his current program and hope that Gabriel would finish in the money next year. Clint had scraped together the funds to buy him, believing the promising quarterhorse could eventually make him enough to buy back the Circle W. The plan would take time, because the amount needed was large, but it could work, especially if George grew tired of sitting on his investment.
Gabriel would run his first race in three months. This TV business would interfere with Gabriel's training, which was another reason Clint resented the intrusion. He wanted nothing to do with the whole mess.
Yet he was worried he might somehow be dragged into it. Several of his neighbors had asked if he was competing, as if they expected him to. A couple of women had winked and said he'd be a natural. That made him wonder if Meg would put pressure on him and imply he was being a poor sport for staying out of it. He wanted to eliminate any chance of that.
Then, while mucking out stalls this morning, he'd had an inspiration. He'd play dumb, pretend he knew nothing about running a ranch and say his sixty-year-old foreman Tucker Benson was the expert. Tuck could take the heat and cater to this city woman's whims.
Once Clint had been informed that the Arizona segment of the search would be held at the Circle W, which meant he would be housing Meg for two nights, he'd taken a look at the show. He'd sat there shaking his head at that smiling, silly woman who would soon be invading his precious ranch. She'd be more out of place than an eyelash curler on a trail ride.
Clint was vaguely familiar with eyelash curlers and all the other appliances that women used to improve on nature. He didn't begrudge them th
ose toys, but he became a little cranky if the primping got in the way of living. More than not, it seemed to. He was still looking for a woman who'd climb out of bed and join him for a breakfast ride without spending twenty minutes fixing her face.
His brief stint watching "Meg and Mel in the Morning" had convinced him that the woman coming to the Circle W was as far from his ideal as a person could get. So why had he showered in preparation for her arrival? Oh, yeah. To wash off the smell of manure, so she would think he was a greenhorn who didn't even know how to sit a horse, let alone muck out a stall. Certainly not the ultimate cowboy.
As the plan gelled in his mind, he searched his closet and came up with a pair of pleated slacks he hadn't worn since his dad's funeral. He looked like a dude in those slacks, plus they had a really sad association tacked onto them. But wearing them might be just the trick, along with the narrow leather belt he'd bought to go with the outfit.
In fact, he should put on a dress shirt, too. And loafers. The loafers were buried under a pile of boots, but at last he located them. The loafers had been around for ten years, at least, because he'd had them in college. Looked like he'd be wearing them for the next two days. Finally, for good measure, he slicked back his dark hair.
The invasion could come at any minute, so he went in search of Tuck. He found the weathered foreman down by the round pen putting Gabriel through his paces. Tuck was a hell of a trainer, and if anyone could get Gabriel ready, this was the guy. Clint had known him all his life.
Tuck had been a good cowman in his day, too, but the Circle W had stopped running cattle several years ago. Clint's dad had been mired in debt by the time he'd sold to George Forester, and the cash from the sale had all gone to pay off those debts. Now the ranch's income came from boarding and training horses for all the folks who'd moved to the area recently. The Circle W also offered trail rides and cookouts for the tourists, and every year there were more tourists showing up in Sonoita.
In the beginning of his association with George, Clint had tried to interest him in quarterhorse racing, but George only cared about land values, so Clint had decided to pursue the racing angle on his own. He was lucky land values hadn't skyrocketed, or the Circle W would already be subdivided and Clint would be out on his ass.
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