Honeymoon Mountain Bride

by Leanne Banks

  Travis took off his hat again. He bent to get his shirt.

  “Leave it,” said Giselle.

  He gave her a slight nod and no smile as he settled back into the chair. Because this was serious business. To him—and to her.

  “Now we want to know about that hometown of yours.” Giselle almost smiled then, though really it was more of a smirk. “We’ve been hearing some pretty crazy things about Rust Creek Falls.”

  Was he ready for that one? You bet he was. His town had been making national news the past few years. First came the flood. He explained about the Fourth of July rains that wouldn’t stop and all the ways the people of Rust Creek Falls had pulled together to come back from the worst disaster in a century. He spoke of rebuilding after the waters receded, of the national attention and the sudden influx of young women who had come to town to find themselves a cowboy.

  When Giselle asked if any of those women had found him, he answered in a lazy drawl, “To tell you the truth, I met a lot of pretty women after the great flood.” He put his right hand on his chest. “Each one of them holds a special place in my heart.”

  Roxanne had to stifle another giggle.

  Giselle sent her a cool look. Roxanne’s smile vanished as if it had never been. “Tell us more,” said Giselle.

  And he told them about a certain Fourth of July wedding almost two years ago now, a wedding in Rust Creek Falls Park. A local eccentric by the name of Homer Gilmore had spiked the wedding punch with his special recipe moonshine—purported to make people do things they would never do ordinarily.

  “A few got in fights,” he confessed, “present company included, I’m sorry to say.” He made an effort to look appropriately embarrassed at his own behavior before adding, “And a whole bunch of folks got romantic—and that meant that last year, Rust Creek Falls had a serious baby boom. You might have heard of that. We called it the baby bonanza. So now we have what amounts to a population explosion in our little town. Nobody’s complaining, though. In Rust Creek Falls, love and babies are what it’s all about.”

  Travis explained that he wanted to join the cast of The Great Roundup for the thrill of it—and he also wanted to be the last cowboy standing. He had a fine life working the Dalton family ranch, but the million-dollar prize would build him his own house on the land he loved and put a little money in the bank, too.

  “I’m not getting any younger,” he admitted with a smile he hoped came across as both sexy and modest. “One of these days, I might even want to find the right girl and settle down.”

  Giselle, who had excellent posture in the first place, seemed to sit up even straighter, like a prize hunting dog catching a scent. “The right girl? Interesting.” She glanced at Roxanne, who bobbed her head in an eager nod. “Is there anyone special you’ve got your eye on?”

  There was no one, and there probably wouldn’t be any time soon. But he got Giselle’s message loud and clear. For some reason, the casting director would prefer that he had a sweetheart.

  And what Giselle preferred, Travis Dalton was bound and determined to deliver. “Is there a special woman in my life? Well, she’s a...very private person.”

  “That would be yes, then. You’re exclusive with someone?”

  Damn. Message received, loud and clear. He wasn’t getting out of this without confessing—or lying through his teeth. And since he intended to get on the show, he knew what his choice had to be.

  “I don’t want to speak out of hand, but yeah. There is a special someone in my life now. We...haven’t been together long, but...” He let out a low whistle and pasted on an expression that he hoped would pass for completely smitten. “Oh, yeah. Special would be the word for her.”

  “Is this special someone a hometown girl?” Giselle’s eyes twinkled in a way that was simultaneously aggressive, gleeful and calculating.

  “She’s from Rust Creek Falls, yes. And she’s amazing.” Whoever the hell she is. “It’s the greatest thing in the world, to know someone your whole life and then suddenly to realize there’s a lot more going on between the two of you than you’ve ever admitted before.” Whoa. He probably ought to be ashamed of himself. His mama had brought him up right, taught him not to tell lies. But who did this little white lie hurt, anyway? Not a soul. And to get on The Great Roundup, Travis Dalton would tell Giselle whatever she needed to hear.

  “What’s her name?” asked Giselle. It was the next logical question, damn it. He should have known it was coming.

  He put on his best killer smile—and lied some more. “Sorry, I can’t tell you her name. You know small towns.” Giselle frowned. She might be sharp as a barbwire fence, but he would bet his Collin Traub dress saddle that she’d never been within a hundred miles of a town like Rust Creek Falls. “We’re keeping what we have together just between the two of us, my girl and me. It’s a special time in our relationship, and we don’t want the whole town butting into our private business.” A special time. Damned if he didn’t sound downright sensitive—for a bald-faced liar. But would the casting director buy it?

  Giselle didn’t seem all that thrilled with his unwillingness to out his nonexistent girlfriend, but at least she let it go. A few minutes later, she gave the cameraman a break. Then she chatted with Travis off the record for a couple of minutes more. She said she’d heard he was staying at the Malibu house of LA power player Carson Drake, whose wife, Tessa Strickland Drake, had deep Montana roots. Travis explained that he’d known Tessa all his life. She’d grown up in Bozeman, but she spent most of her childhood summers staying at her grandmother’s boardinghouse in Rust Creek Falls.

  After the chitchat, Giselle asked him to have a seat outside. He grabbed his shirt and went out to the waiting area, which consisted of a bunch of chairs, a few tables with ratty-looking magazines, a row of vending machines and a watercooler, all arranged along what was essentially a wide hallway between soundstages. He put on his shirt and took one of the chairs.

  An hour went by and then another. He struck up conversations with some of the other applicants. A crusty old guy named Wally Wilson told stories about growing up on the Oklahoma prairie and riding the rodeos all over the West.

  Potential contestants went through the door to the soundstage, stayed awhile and came back out. Some of them emerged from the interview and sat down and waited, like Travis. Some left. Travis took heart from the fact that he was among the ones asked to stay.

  It was after six when they called him back in to tell him that he wouldn’t be returning to Malibu that night—or any time soon, as it turned out. Real Deal Entertainment would put him up in a hotel room instead.

  * * *

  Travis lived in that hotel room for two weeks at Real Deal’s beck and call. He took full advantage of room service, and he worked out in the hotel fitness center to pass the time while he got his background checked and his blood drawn. He even got interviewed by a shrink, who asked a lot of way-too-personal questions. There were also a series of follow-up meetings with casting people and producers. At the two-week mark, in a Century City office tower, he got a little quality time with a bunch of network suits.

  That evening, absolutely certain he’d made the show, he raided the minibar in his room and raised a toast to his success.

  Hot damn, he’d done it! He was going to be a contestant on The Great Roundup. He would have his shot at a cool million bucks.

  And he would win, too. Damned if he wouldn’t. He would build his own house on the family ranch and get more say in the day-to-day running of the place. His older brother, Anderson, made most of the decisions now. But if Travis had some hard cash to invest, his big brother would take him more seriously. Travis would step up as a real partner in running the ranch.

  Being the good-time cowboy of the family had been fun. But there comes a point when every man has to figure out what to do with his life. Travis had reached that p
oint. And The Great Roundup was going to take him where he needed to go.

  The next morning, a car arrived to deliver him to the studio, where he sat in another waiting area outside a different soundstage with pretty much the same group of potential contestants he’d sat with two weeks before. One by one, they were called through the door. They all emerged smiling to be swiftly led away by their drivers.

  When Travis’s turn came, he walked onto the soundstage to find Giselle and Roxanne and a couple producers waiting at a long table. The camera was rolling. Except for that meeting in the office tower with the suits and a couple of sessions involving lawyers with papers to sign, a camera had been pointed at him every time they talked to him.

  Giselle said, “Have a seat, Travis.” He took the lone chair facing the others at the table. “We have some great news for you.”

  He knew it, he was in! He did a mental fist pump.

  But then Giselle said, “You’ve made the cut for the final audition.”

  What the hell? Another audition?

  “You’ll love this, Travis.” Giselle watched him expectantly as she announced, “The final audition will be in Rust Creek Falls.”

  Wait. What?

  She went on, “As it happens, your hometown is not far from the supersecret location where The Great Roundup will be filmed. And since your first audition, we 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.”

  Chapter Two

  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.

  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.”

  * * *

  Ten of his fellow finalists were on that 7:00 a.m. flight to Salt Lake City the next day, including old Wally Wilson and the Franklins—Fred Franklin and his twin sons, Rob and Joey. Travis exchanged greetings with Wally, the Franklins and the rest of them, too.

  He wasn’t sitting near any of them, though. And the guy in the seat next to him dismissed Travis with a nod and spent the flight to Salt Lake City fiddling with his smartphone.

  Travis stared out the window and considered his predicament.

  A girl.

  He needed a girl and he needed her fast.

  Without one, he had a really bad feeling he wouldn’t make the final Great Roundup cut.

  At Salt Lake City International, they switched to a smaller plane that took them to Kalispell. Again, he got a seat next to a complete stranger. He stared out the window some more and gave himself a pep talk.

  He’d 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 rope and ride, 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 f
inished 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 have that long, Mom.”

  “Sit down,” Mary commanded. “It’s not gonna kill you to enjoy a slice of my pie.”

  So he had some pie and coffee. He saw his brother Anderson briefly. His dad, Ben, was still at work at his law office in town.

  Zach, one of Uncle Phil’s boys, came in, too. “That pie looks really good, Aunt Mary.”

  Mary laughed. “Sit down and I’ll cut you a nice big piece.”

  Zach poured himself some coffee and took the chair across from Travis. In his late twenties, Zach was a good-looking guy. He asked Travis, “So how’s it going with that reality show you’re gonna be on?”