by Syndi Powell
A SECOND CHANCE AT TRUE LOVE
Five years ago, Rick Allyn was publicly humiliated when he had his heart broken on the reality dating show True Love. Convincing him to sign up for another round of punishment isn’t going to be easy. But with the show’s ratings plummeting, producer Elizabeth Maier will have to persuade him to agree…or she’ll be putting in a job application at Rick’s small-town diner.
Elizabeth is confident this season will be different. With his prominent family, boyish charm and good looks, Rick is the complete package. Finding his soul mate shouldn’t be hard. However, as filming continues, she’s beginning to suspect that the perfect woman for Rick is her. That leaves Elizabeth with a tough choice: her job at True Love or a shot at the real thing.
Elizabeth studied the handsome man next to her.
When had she lost her touch? Most men jumped at the chance to have twenty-five beautiful women fawning over them.
“You owe it to America to be on the show.”
“Somehow I think you’re exaggerating.” Rick chuckled.
She was losing him. He wasn’t interested in money, love or fame. What else could he want? She changed gears. “If this is about reliving history, we’ll do a better job this time. You won’t end up humiliated and alone.”
“It must be nice to control the universe.”
She reached over and put a hand on his arm, and tried to ignore the skitter in her stomach when she felt his muscles underneath the denim jacket. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll guarantee it.”
If only she could have what she truly wanted.
Dear Reader,
One of my favorite television shows is The Bachelor, and I love the idea that you can meet the love of your life on a reality show. Of course, the reality is it doesn’t always work out that way, and I wondered what would happen if a bachelor was rejected on live television in front of an audience of millions? How could he come back from that and find a second chance at love? And what if it turned out to be with the wrong woman?
With those questions in mind, I started the story. I named my bachelor after my dad and gave him a lot of my dad’s qualities. I discovered that I wasn’t only writing a romance, but a story that would honor my dad’s memory in a small way.
I hope you enjoy the story as much as I did. And I’d love to hear from you at www.facebook.com/syndipowellauthor.
Syndi Powell
Syndi Powell
The Reluctant Bachelor
SYNDI POWELL
started writing stories when she was young, eager to find out what happened after the happily-ever-after in her favorite books, and has made it a lifelong pursuit. She’s been reading Harlequin romance novels since she was in her teens and is thrilled to join the Harlequin team. She lives near Detroit with her husband, stepson and a cat and dog who believe they run the household. She loves to connect with readers on Twitter, @syndipowell, or on her Facebook author page, www.facebook.com/syndipowellauthor.
Dedicated to my dad, who I hope can read this book from heaven. I love and miss you. And to my mom, who introduced me to reading Harlequin books in the first place and started the love affair. Thank you both for your love and support.
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
PROLOGUE
RICK ALLYN TUGGED at the sky-blue tie that had been looped around his neck by one of the production assistants of True Love, a dating reality show. Only moments away from proposing to the one woman he’d never believed he’d find, he should feel anxious, right? The butterflies running bases in his stomach only proved his human nature.
After all, Brandy could say no.
But she wouldn’t. Not to him. At twenty-five, he was the entire package—looks, smarts and, after his agent worked out the details of his contract, a major-league baseball player.
Lizzie Maier walked toward him. Serious, as always. She was wearing a purple power suit; her long brown hair was tied up in some ridiculous style that only emphasized the sharpness of her cheekbones. And the grass-green of her eyes.
He held up his hands in surrender. “What did I do now?”
Lizzie shook her head and reached up to straighten his tie. “She’s almost ready for you.” She didn’t look him in the eyes, but kept her focus on his suit and the fit of it. “Are you sure about this?”
Finally she looked up at him. “Brandy’s an amazing woman. Beautiful. Smart. What man wouldn’t want to be married to her?”
“Right.” Lizzie nodded, then tapped her earpiece and shook her head. “They’re still not ready. Rick, I should tell you—”
“Lizzie, relax.”
“It’s Elizabeth.”
“Not to me.” He winked at her. “I’m going to propose. She’ll say yes. Then you’re going to throw us the biggest, most romantic wedding that has ever aired on television.” Rick rolled his head around his neck to get out the tension. “Now, let’s get this show on the road. The rock in my pocket is weighing me down.”
“What if she doesn’t pick you?”
Rick laughed and shook his head. “She’s going to pick Wade? Give me a break. It’s not like all of us didn’t warn her about him. Brandy’s a smart girl. She knows.”
“Rick—”
“It’s fine. Really, Lizzie.” He straightened his shoulders and touched his tie. “I’m getting the girl. I’m winning her heart. And you can print that in the tabloids.”
Lizzie tapped her earpiece again. “Okay, they’re ready for you.” She studied him, then sighed. “You’ve been a good friend to me during this show. Thanks.”
He winked. “Let’s go propose on live television.”
CHAPTER ONE
FIVE YEARS SHOULD be enough time for people to forget. In a world of thirty-second sound bites and high-speed internet, one person’s fifteen minutes of fame should be a distant memory in a few months at most.
But Rick didn’t live in a world of shoulds. If he did, he’d be happily married to Brandy. And Lizzie wouldn’t be sitting in the stands at the annual Pickle Play-Off game.
Get your head in the game, Allyn. This is for the championship.
He clapped his hands and crouched into a running stance at second base. His line drive had been good enough to get him there, but he needed one more solid hit to get him and the guy on third home to win the game. The young man with Down syndrome up to bat might dampen anyone else’s enthusiasm. But not Rick’s. Because tonight was his night. He could feel it down to his cleats.
Rick cupped his hands around his mouth. “C’mon, Jeffy. Hit me in, buddy.”
Jeffy looked up at him and nodded. He bit his tongue as he got into position in front of the catcher.
The first pitch. “Ball.”
Rick stood and clapped his hands once more. “Good eye, Jeffy.”
Jeffy swung at the next ball. Missed. “Strike one.”
“Wait f
or your pitch, buddy.” Rick put his hands on his knees, rubbing the left one to ease the ache—a remnant of a car accident five years before—then returned to his running stance, ready to make a dash for third if the opportunity arose.
The next ball floated across the plate. “Strike two.”
The crowd got to their feet. They could be one pitch away from winning it all. Or losing. They stomped. Shouted. Cheered. Jeffy’s mom hid her head in her hands and turned to the well-dressed brunette in a purple power suit beside her.
Why was she here?
Rick shook his head. Stay focused. “C’mon, Jeffy. Hit her out of here!”
He held his breath as the next ball pinged off Jeffy’s bat and rolled toward first base.
“Foul ball!”
At third base, Tom saw his opportunity and sprinted toward home before the opposing team could react. He slid safely into home plate and tied the game as Rick reached third base.
One hit was all they needed. One solid hit to get Rick home.
He held his hands up. “Time-out.” He started walking toward Jeffy. Time for a pep talk.
* * *
THE OLDER WOMAN sitting beside Elizabeth on the bleachers covered her eyes. “I can’t look.”
Elizabeth looked from the woman to the young man talking with Rick at home plate. “Is that your son?”
The woman turned and smiled at Elizabeth. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Afraid not.” She gripped the handles of her Kate Spade bag tighter. “I’m here on business.”
And business was exactly what she should be doing rather than sitting on a hard wooden bleacher, waiting for a chance to talk to Rick. He looked good. Better than good. But five years hadn’t changed him. Same brown hair that looked as if he’d run a comb through it sometime that week. Same warm grin that could make a girl’s toes curl. And if she could get close enough to see his brown eyes, she knew she’d see the familiar twinkle that played with his good-guy image. Five years and he still didn’t see his potential beyond this hick town. Good thing she was there to change all that.
The woman next to her held out her hand. “I’m Martha. Otherwise known in town as Jeffy’s mom.”
Elizabeth turned her attention back to Martha and shook her hand. “Elizabeth.”
“Jeffy loves the game, but because he’s slow, coaches won’t let him play.” She turned adoring eyes back to the two men standing at home plate. “Except for Rick, bless him.”
Rick walked back to third base as Jeffy returned to the batter’s box. Swung the bat a few times. Hunkered down, ready for his pitch.
Martha squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, I can’t watch.”
Elizabeth took the woman’s hand in hers. “I’ll watch for you.” You could get through anything with someone holding your hand.
The pitch. “Ball two.”
The crowd let out their breath and clapped. “Jeffy! Jeffy! Jeffy!”
The pitcher glanced at third base, then threw the ball at the baseman. Rick shook his head. “Just pitch the ball, Stu.” He turned back to Jeffy. “Nice and easy, now. Just like practice.”
Jeffy nodded and tightened his grip on the bat.
The coach from the other team laughed. “No worries, folks. We’ve got the game. That trophy is as good as ours.”
Stu shook off the catcher’s first two calls. He nodded and threw the ball.
Crack.
Martha’s eyes opened. “He hit it?”
Elizabeth grinned and helped her to her feet as Rick flew toward home and planted his feet on home base. He then stood to watch Jeffy charging toward first base before the ball could get there.
His feet touched the base.
The ball hit the baseman’s glove.
“Safe!”
With a roar, fans rushed the field, carrying Jeffy away in their excitement. Elizabeth helped Martha down from the stands, but even his own mother couldn’t get to Jeffy through the crowd. Everyone was hugging him. Shouting and crying. All trying to get the chance to put their hands on the young man the other team said couldn’t play.
Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile. This was better than anything on television.
* * *
MARTHA WALKED UP to Rick and hugged him. “Thank you for believing in Jeffy.”
“Thanks for letting him play.” He patted her back. “You’re bringing him to the diner after?”
“He wouldn’t let us miss it.” She wiped her eyes and turned to find her son amid the crowd.
The opposing coach cleared his throat until Rick turned around and accepted the trophy. “Thanks.”
The coach shrugged. “We underestimated you.”
“The underdog has to win at least once.” They shook hands briefly before the coach walked away.
“Still tilting at windmills?”
At Lizzie’s voice, Rick turned to face the inevitable moment. It had been coming since he’d spotted her in the bleachers. She looked good. Too good. Despite the fact that she wore her power suit like armor.
“You’ve been avoiding my calls.”
He started to walk around the bases, picking them up and slapping them together to get off the dirt. “Because they all say the same thing, Lizzie. And my answer hasn’t changed.”
“If you’d just listen—”
“I don’t need to. True Love was a onetime shot. I don’t need to relive that time of my life. I’ve moved on.” He bent and stuffed the bases into the equipment bags, zipped them shut and hoisted them over his left shoulder. He waved with his free hand to some friends. “See you at the diner,” he called after them when they honked their car horns.
“No offense, Rick, but it doesn’t look like you’ve moved much from when I met you five years ago.”
Rick turned to observe her. One of television’s top reality-show producers stood on a dusty baseball field wearing designer clothes that cost more than what most of the people in this town made in a month. Her haircut, though attractive and stylish, probably cost enough to pay the grocery bills. She didn’t have a clue about how his world operated. Yet here she was. Standing on his turf. Trying to convince him to make another mistake.
He opened his mouth, a smart retort on his tongue, but instead stalked off the field toward the parking lot, where two vehicles remained. He glanced at the rental that obviously belonged to Lizzie and shook his head.
“Something wrong with my car?” He could hear the smile in her voice.
He put the bags in the back of his truck but didn’t look at her. “It’s a convertible.”
“I know.”
He turned to face her. “In Michigan.” She didn’t get it. Probably never would, Rick was sure.
Lizzie’s smile faded into a frown. “And?”
Rick shrugged and sighed as if to say it was her funeral. “The weather changes every five minutes here.”
“But I look good in a convertible.”
He sighed. Some things really didn’t change. “Always going for style over substance.”
“Are you judging me?” She took her sunglasses from the perch atop her head and slid them over her eyes. “I thought we’d gotten past that. I thought we were friends.”
Rick swallowed and tried to fight the feeling that he’d messed up again. “Friends who haven’t talked or seen each other since I got dumped on television.” He took off his ball cap and hit his thigh with it once. Twice. “I apologize, Lizzie. It’s still a sore spot.”
“And it’s still Elizabeth.”
Rick grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “Not to me.”
She strode to her car and took a sleek leather briefcase from the front seat. With a few quick snaps, she opened it and retrieved a thin envelope. “Our offer has increased.”
He g
lanced at the envelope, then at her. “You could offer me twice as much and my answer would still be no.”
Lizzie fiddled with the contents of her briefcase before placing the envelope back inside. “Rick, this is a chance of a lifetime.”
He swallowed. Yeah, like the chance that had made him a joke on every national newscast for a month. “I already had one of those, remember?”
Lizzie sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Could we at least discuss this over coffee?”
He chuckled. “At the diner we only have half-and-half, not that flavored creamer you like.” He finished throwing the equipment bags into the bed of his pickup truck before slamming the tailgate closed. Turning, he nearly ran Lizzie over.
“How did you remember the creamer?”
Rick shrugged. “How do I remember that Frank gets pancakes with butter and no syrup every day except on Saturday when it’s French toast? How do I know that Miss Maudie wants the crusts cut off her sandwiches and put into a doggie bag to take home to her Yorkie?” He flipped the keys in his hands over a few times. “It’s my job.”
“I’m not your job.”
“But I’m yours?” He glanced at the empty ball field and then back at her. “Why are you here? Why not send one of your interns? Backwater Michigan is a long way from Hollywood for a business call.”
“I needed to see you.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Interesting.”
* * *
ELIZABETH TRIED NOT to groan. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to happen. She’d come in person to convince him to do the show, which should have impressed him. Instead it seemed to make him even more resistant to the idea. He was supposed to be desperate for her.
Desperate for the show. That was what she meant.
Rick opened the passenger door of his truck. “Convince me. We’ll talk on the drive to the diner.”
That was more like it. She looked back at the blue convertible. “And leave my car here?”
“It’ll be fine.” Rick glanced up at the sky. “But you might want to put up the top. It could rain.”