by Meg Benjamin
“So why were we so far off?” Paul asked. “What did you want us to expect?”
Saltzman, the bar owner, was still grinning, fortunately. “I don’t necessarily want you to expect anything in particular. But the only reason this place is named the Blarney Stone is that it’s always been named the Blarney Stone. When Jeff Bingham sold it to me six years ago, he advised me to hang onto the name even if I didn’t hang onto anything else. He said it would draw people in. He was right. And we do have one hell of a St. Patrick’s Day party.”
“So it’s never been an Irish bar?”
He shrugged. “Oh it probably was once upon a time, way back before anybody remembers who owned it. It’s been around for thirty years or so. But it’s been like this pretty much as long as I’ve been in Salt Box. No shamrocks, no Guinness, no Lord of the Dance. Just local beer and the jukebox, with dinner in the room across the hall. It’s sort of a Salt Box kind of thing. You just call it what you want and let it go.”
Around them the crowd began to swing across the dance floor, singing along to “Bad Moon Rising.” One of the locals asked Ronnie to dance, ignoring Brendan’s slightly threatening expression. Brendan’s gaze followed them to the dance floor. He looked a lot like the Church Lady all of a sudden.
“Who chooses the music on the jukebox?” Paul asked.
Saltzman shrugged. “Whoever. I think I’ve got 45’s from half the people in town in there. Everybody who actually still owns 45’s, that is. We switch out occasionally, but if you donate records, you get to play the jukebox for free.”
“Which means pretty much everybody in town gets to play the jukebox for free since Saltzman can never remember who donated and who didn’t.” Denham took another swallow of his beer.
Saltzman shrugged again. “More trouble than it’s worth, anyway. I don’t see the jukebox as much of a revenue generator.”
“Thing’s a friggin’ antique.” Dick, the camera repair guy, set his beer down on the table. “Someday you’ll switch to an iPod.”
“Someday I probably will, but not yet.” Saltzman grinned. “Not as long as you’re around to repair it.”
Dick made a disgruntled sound and settled back in his seat.
“So what are you folks doing here in town?” Saltzman asked, brandishing the pitcher to pour another round. He nodded toward Faisal. “He said you’re in TV.”
“We are.” Monica shrugged. “But we’re here because our SUV went into a ditch outside of town before we could make it to the resort. Al’s supposed to have it fixed for us tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah, that’s what Clark said. Deer?”
She nodded. “More or less.”
“So where do you go from here?”
“Elkhorn Run.” She took a stein from his hands, passing it on to Paul.
Saltzman narrowed his eyes slightly. “And once you get there, you’ll do what?”
“That’s where the production company is. We’ll meet up with them there.”
Saltzman turned to Paul. “Is there some secret about what y’all do, or am I just not asking her in the right way?”
Paul gave her a lazy grin, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t know. I’ll ask. Is there any particular reason why Saltzman here can’t know what we do for a living?”
Monica blew out a breath. Technically, nobody was supposed to know where they were filming. Glenn always argued that if people knew they were filming the challenges, they might be able to find out who’d been eliminated, thus killing the suspense. In reality, she seriously doubted anybody in Salt Box would give a crap one way or the other.
“We work for a show called Finding Mr. Right. We’re filming at Elkhorn Run for the next week or so.”
Saltzman’s forehead furrowed. “Finding Mr. Right? Never heard of it.”
“It’s new. We’re filming the first season now.” Hopefully, not the only season.
Across the table, Dick gave her a narrow-eyed look. “Anything like that damn fool Finding Miss Right thing?”
“It’s the same production company. With some of the same people involved.” He looked like somebody who might like to argue about the show. Right now, she felt too relaxed to argue with anyone, even Mountain Man Dick.
“So who’s doing the searching on this one? Judging by the title, I assume it’s somebody female, unless your production company is a lot more progressive than most of them.” Denham gave her another smile, and Monica wondered if he was laughing at her or at the television industry in general.
“Ronnie,” she said, as Ronnie herself slid back into her chair, closely followed by Brendan and a couple of locals.
“What about me?” she asked.
“I was just telling them that you’re our bachelorette this year. The first one ever.” Monica wondered why exactly she was suddenly punching up Ronnie’s importance.
“Yeah?” Saltzman raised an eyebrow.
Ronnie gave them all another one of her smiles. “Yes, I am. It’s really exciting. Really, really exciting. I can hardly wait to get started. I mean” —she glanced hastily around the table— “not that I’m not happy to meet y’all and everything, but I’m really looking forward to getting to Elkhorn Run.”
“Why?”
Everyone turned to look at Dick. He didn’t seem hostile necessarily, just curious. But his eyes looked suspiciously sharp. Uh oh.
Ronnie frowned. “Why what?”
“Why are you looking forward to this show thing?”
“Because it’s…television.” She was beginning to look confused.
He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “I mean, here you are, a very pretty girl, hell, a gorgeous girl. Why are you going on this show? Why the hell would you need to?”
“Well…” Ronnie licked her lips. “I mean, I get to, you know, meet these guys and all. And we go on dates. And everybody watches. I mean it’s national TV.”
Dick leaned back in his seat, studying her. “So it’s all about having everybody see you?”
Ronnie shook her head again. “That’s just part of it. It’s Finding Mr. Right, so I get to have all these guys and one of them is my Mr. Right. That’s what it’s all about. It’s the chance to meet someone special.”
“Stick around here a couple more days. I guarantee you’ll have more dates than you know what to do with.” He gestured toward the dance floor. “Hell, look how many guys you’ve already got chasing you around as it is. Should be one or two of them who’d measure up, even if you don’t do it with a TV camera pointed your way. How much better does it get than that?”
The two locals grinned in Dick’s direction. Brendan narrowed his eyes.
Monica glanced at Ronnie. Her lower lip was trembling again. Crap. “Ronnie was our first choice to do this,” she said quickly. “She’s been on the show before. The audience loves her. She’ll have a good time and maybe meet somebody special.”
Dick gave her a half-smile. “You’re what, the producer?”
“Associate producer.”
“Uh huh.” His eyes were altogether too sharp for comfort. “You the one who talked her into doing this thing?”
Her shoulders clenched tight all of a sudden. “I didn’t talk anybody into anything.” No, I didn’t. I really didn’t.
“Sorry. I figured someone like you had to convince her this would be a good idea.” He picked up his beer again.
Beside her, Paul leaned forward. “Any particular reason you’re picking on her, or does it just feel good?”
“You the white knight?” Dick turned in his direction. “Let me guess. You’re the writer. Or do those things have writers?”
“Knock it off,” Denham growled. He muttered something that sounded sort of like Seinfeld. Probably Dick’s last name.
Paul’s head snapped up. He stared at Dick.
The old man stared back for a moment, then pushed himself to his feet. “Didn’t mean to ruffle anybody’s feathers,” he said mildly. He turned toward Ronnie again. “But you listen to me, sw
eetheart. You don’t need to go on a fool show to catch a man. Just remember that. If you get sick of the whole thing, you hike down here. Hell, Saltzman could probably find a job for you at the bar. That’d give you plenty of ways to find Mr. Right here in Salt Box. Night all.”
He turned away from the table, sauntering easily toward the door.
Denham blew out a breath. “Sorry about that. He’s the local curmudgeon, and sometimes he takes it a little too seriously.”
Ronnie was blinking too fast, as if she were trying to keep the tears at bay. “Why did he say that anyway?”
“Let’s dance,” Brendan said quickly, extending his hand.
Ronnie looked up at him, her lips trembling.
“Really,” he said. “It’ll make you feel better. Not that you need to feel better. I mean that old fart doesn’t know anything.”
Ronnie turned toward Monica, lips still trembling. “It isn’t true, is it Monica? The show’s not just a trick?”
Monica took a breath. Not the time for honesty right now. “No, honey, it’s not true. Go dance with Brendan.”
Ronnie gave her another tragic look, then let Brendan pull her to her feet.
Monica sighed and glanced around the table. Denham and Saltzman were both staring at her. Her shoulders clenched tight again. “What?”
Denham narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you do all the time, keep her happy?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Some of the time at least.”
Saltzman shook his head slowly, his eyes bleak. “Hell of a job you got there, lady. I hope they pay you well.”
Monica shrugged again. Her shoulders still felt stiff. “It’s a living.”
Saltzman turned toward Paul. “And you?”
“What about me?”
“Was our local asshat right? Are you the writer?”
At least Paul looked slightly uncomfortable too. “Yeah. I write for the production company. So what?”
“I don’t know.” Denham frowned. “I’m still trying to figure all this out. Ronnie’s your bachelorette. Does that make Brendan your bachelor?”
“One of them.” Monica shrugged. “There are several.”
“So where are the others?”
“Most of them are at Elkhorn Run. Where we’re supposed to be.”
“And they’re going to compete for her? And the winner gets to marry her?” Saltzman looked like he’d tasted something bitter. “Jesus, it sounds like something out of the middle ages. All you’re missing is a jousting tournament.”
Paul’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “That’s not a bad idea. Maybe I’ll mention it to the producer when we see him again.”
“Nobody’s getting married. All we do is match people up. What happens after that is up to them. We haven’t had anyone get married so far, but everybody’s had a good time.” Except for Ronnie on that last season of Miss Right. Monica sighed again.
Paul pushed back from the table. “Let’s dance.”
She blinked. The song on the jukebox was almost over. “Now?”
“Yes. Now.” He took her hand, pulling her up beside him so that she slid along his body as she stood, then turned her toward the dance floor.
For a moment they stood watching each other, his eyes darkening. Then the record changed. Patsy Cline began crooning “Crazy.”
“The music choice is nothing if not eclectic,” Paul muttered.
Monica rested her head on his shoulder, feeling warmth and muscle, then pulled back to look at him. “It’s true, you know. What they said.”
His arm settled around her waist, bringing her close again. “They said a lot of things. What are you thinking of?”
“All of it.” She sighed, leaning against his chest. “It’s all true. Even what ‘Dick the dick’ said. Ronnie’s a beautiful woman. She doesn’t need Fairstein Productions to find a man.” She felt his muscles flex beneath her cheek.
He turned her quickly around another couple, his breath warm against her hair. “Ronnie is also an adult who is here because she wants to be. You didn’t kidnap her and bring her here by force. She came willingly. More than willingly. And if she’s only now thinking about the implications of all of this, it’s not for want of experience. She’s been through it all before.”
“But she’s a romantic.”
“Which doesn’t give her a free pass. I repeat—she’s been through this before. She wanted to do this, Monica.” He leaned back to look down at her. “Don’t let them guilt you into anything. You’re not responsible for her.”
She shook her head. “I am, you know. I didn’t want to be. I tried not to be. But I am. I like her, and I think she’s in way over her head here.”
“Then maybe she needs to learn how to swim.”
Monica grimaced. “Paul…”
“Would it help if I sang it?” He did another quick turn at the end of the dance floor, then leaned against her, his lips pressed against her ear. “Ronnie…” he crooned along with Patsy, “is a fully grown woman. Monica needs to learn how to let go.”
She grinned reluctantly, feeling a slow ache begin to build in her abdomen. “You’re telling me you don’t feel guilty about this at all?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. But then I’m in the same boat with Ronnie. I’m just a bachelor this time around.”
“Oh God.” She leaned her head back to look at him. “Would you believe I forgot about that? Maybe just for today.”
“I wish I could forget it,” he muttered. He put his hand on her head, pushing her gently back against his chest again.
“I think Ronnie has.” For a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his palm against the small of her back.
“Yeah.” He glanced in Ronnie’s direction, watching her slide across the floor with one of the locals. “Which is sort of interesting, when you think about it. She doesn’t seem to expect Brendan or Billy Joe to pay court, even though Brendan does it anyway.”
“You think she’s forgotten who you are?”
His smile warmed as he looked down at her. “I think she’s on a pass here, just like the rest of us. Which maybe means she doesn’t expect Mr. Right to show up during the next couple of weeks after all.”
Monica blew out a breath, resting her head on his shoulder again. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, to tell you the truth.”
He rested his cheek against her hair. “Just dance, Monica. You’re off duty for now. Just dance.”
Chapter Eleven
As the evening went on, Paul found his focus narrowing to a single point: how to get Monica to smile again like she had in the earlier part of the evening, before Dick the curmudgeon had decided to make her miserable. Not that she looked miserable, exactly. She just didn’t have that same glow she’d had when they’d come back from the river.
He wanted that glow back. Hell, he needed it back. That glow had warmed his cold Hollywood heart back close to life, something none of the starlets, publicists and development girls he’d dated had been able to do. Something he hadn’t felt for quite a while, in fact.
Of course, Monica was making him feel very good, even if she wasn’t glowing quite the way he wanted her to. Her hair floated around her head in a tangled halo of curls. Her face was slightly sunburned from their day on the river, pink cheeks and pink nose. So far as he could tell, she wore no makeup whatsoever, and it didn’t matter. She was gorgeous. Maybe he should tell her she didn’t need any of the stuff she usually wore—the straightened hair, the makeup, the professional clothes. She was a natural beauty all on her own.
Whoa! Probably need to back up a step there, boyo. Only he didn’t want to back up just now. In fact, he wanted to move full-speed ahead.
He buried his face in her curls and inhaled the smell of sunlight and water as they moved around the dance floor. Whatever part of her was still Monica McKellar, Associate Producer for Fairstein Productions, was hidden deep beneath her current self. Monica gave a breathy giggle and pulled ba
ck to look at him. “What are you doing?”
“You smell wonderful,” he blurted and watched her eyes become wary. “I’m honestly not nuts, Monica, you do smell really good.”
She gave him an uncertain smile. “I’ve been on the river all day. I’m all gunky.”
“In your case, gunky smells terrific.”
The music blared from the jukebox behind them. Ronnie and her minions were doing some kind of line dance on the other side of the room. One of her escorts stumbled and managed to catch himself at the last minute. She shook her head and laughed.
“Ronnie seems to have recovered,” he said dryly.
“Good.” Monica gave him another smile, this time rueful. “I hope she can take some of these good vibes with her when we leave tomorrow. Who knows what’s going to happen when we get to Elkhorn Run.”
“Good vibes don’t just apply to Ronnie. You could use a few yourself.” He pulled her into his arms again, making another circuit. If they stayed at the edge of the dancers, they could avoid flailing feet, even if it did seem a little strange to be slow-dancing to “Achy-Breaky Heart.” He wasn’t willing to let her go, even for a two-step.
Monica sighed against his shoulder. “I don’t suppose there’s any way we can extend this two-day pass a little further.”
“Not without sabotaging the SUV, and I’m guessing Donovan would send somebody for us if we did.” He took another deep breath, smelling sunshine. “You want some dinner?”
She shook her head. “I ate a lot of that last plate of nachos Clark ordered. I’m feeling pretty full.”
“Want to take a walk?” He ran his index finger down her sunburned nose, willing her to say yes.
She stared up at him for a moment, gold flecks blazing in the deep brown of her eyes. “What do you have in mind?”
He shrugged. “Maybe a walk back to the hotel, where we can sit for a spell on the front porch unless it’s too cold.”
Her lips spread in a slow grin. “You’re on.”
Monica was making a real effort to ignore the voice in the back of her mind that was screaming mistake, mistake. A little snuggling on the veranda wouldn’t hurt anybody, and it was probably the last chance they’d have before they headed off to Elkhorn Run.