Finding Mr. Right Now

by Meg Benjamin

  Incredibly, that brief glimpse of pink tongue against maraschino lips sent a jolt of electricity straight to his groin. “So what do we do about it?”

  She looked back at him again, lowering the clipboard this time. “I’m not sure. They’re keeping everybody on a tight rein right now. Even me.”

  He grimaced. “I’m not on anybody’s rein, Monica. And I want to see you. Tonight if I can.”

  Her gaze flicked away again. “I don’t know how long this rodeo will run. But maybe after it’s over…”

  “Where’s your room? Do you by any chance have a roommate who’s a sound sleeper?” He himself was rooming with Lex, the only remaining bachelor who hadn’t been at Salt Box. Lex snored like a buzz saw but he’d still probably notice a strange woman slipping in.

  She licked her lips again, her eyes locked on the arena. “I don’t have a roommate, as it turns out. My room’s in the main building right next to Ronnie.”

  He leaned forward, resting his arms on the metal fence. “What’s the number? I could be there tonight.”

  She blew out a breath. “It’s room 436. But I thought they locked all of you in at night.”

  He grimaced again. “They told us not to hit the bars or the clubs and nobody has, but there aren’t any bed checks. Or at least there haven’t been any so far. And to tell you the truth, I’d sort of welcome being kicked off for breaking the rules.” He turned to smile at her, watching her eyes go from wary to warm. “I really want you, Monica. As soon as we can. Can I come to you?”

  Her cheeks looked faintly pink in the arena lights. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “All right then.” He blew out a breath. “What are we supposed to do here besides cheer Ronnie on when she rides by?”

  “They didn’t tell you yet?” Monica frowned. “You were supposed to have had it all spelled out in advance. Maybe I’d better try to get everybody together now.”

  “Just tell me. Before you get everyone else out of the stands.”

  “It’s a relay race, close to the end of the evening from what I understand. The riders go up and back along the arena. Four teams. I think Sid said there were two heats and then a final.”

  Paul frowned. “So what do we do? There’s no way any of us is good enough to ride in a race.” Although now that he thought about it, maybe Brendan could ride. He looked like the type.

  “No, no riding. Each team has to grab a piece of rope from somebody on the sidelines and then each of the riders has to pass the rope to the next guy on the team. You’ll be handing the first rider the rope.”

  He shrugged. “Sounds easy enough.”

  “Well, it’s part of the race.” Monica’s brows drew together. “They’ll be going fast. You have to get it to them without slowing them down, just like any relay race.”

  His shoulders tightened. “Where are we supposed to stand when we give it to them?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know—nobody’s told me yet. I figured you’d just be standing back here in the walkway, leaning over the fence.”

  “I don’t think that would work. If we stay back here, they’ll have to detour to the side.” He flexed his shoulders, trying to get them to loosen up. He saw no reason to worry, not really. Not yet. This could all work out. Still, this stunt had Darryl’s fingerprints all over it.

  Monica’s eyes widened. “You think you’ll be standing out there? In the arena?”

  “What are you talking about, the relay?” Al Monteith sauntered toward them.

  She nodded. “Do the people who hand them the ropes stand out there?”

  Monteith shrugged. “Hell yeah—out there on the field. The riders don’t want to have to reach over the fence. I’ve done it. The whole idea is to grab the rope and get going.”

  Monica swallowed; her hands tightened on her clipboard. “Where do they stand?”

  He made a vague gesture toward the field. “Just out there someplace. Depends on how they set up the lanes. Usually they have you stand on something so you’re up where the rider is.”

  She chewed on her lower lip. “That sounds dangerous. Damn it, I told Sid this was a rotten idea. Why did he listen to that moron?”

  Paul closed his eyes for a moment. “Darryl, right?”

  “Right. But Sid said the rodeo people thought it would be okay. I guess they do it all the time.”

  “Do what?” Al’s mother stood at his elbow. What was her name?

  “Hi Nona.” Monica smiled.

  “They got them doing the relay,” Al explained. “I told ’em they’d have to stand out in the field there.”

  “Oh yeah,” Nona nodded. “Got to. Need to be close to the teams.”

  “But it’s safe, right?”

  “Didn’t you check it out in advance?” Dick Sonnenfeld materialized between them like a troll emerging from his bridge.

  “I did,” Monica’s voice sounded slightly panicked. “But the rodeo people swore it was safe. They said they had children doing it sometimes. It isn’t even an official event.”

  Nona shrugged. “It’s safe enough. And they do have kids do it at the family rodeos. Of course, their parents are the riders, and the kids are ranch kids.”

  Which in turn meant they were experienced rodeo people who wouldn’t get in the way of the horse or do anything to spook it. Paul wasn’t sure he trusted Ronnie not to do either.

  Monica’s hands were holding the clipboard so tightly her knuckles had turned white. “Can we stop it? Could they find somebody else to take Ronnie’s place?”

  Nona frowned. “Kind of late for that. You could talk to Ella Moran. She’s in charge of the race, or she is usually, but finding somebody to step in right now wouldn’t be easy. Ask her if they could take some extra care with your friend. Seeing as how she’s never done it before.”

  Paul managed not to sigh. The rodeo officials might be willing to help Ronnie, but he doubted they’d be willing to make special allowances for the bachelors, who were almost equally likely to screw up.

  Monica didn’t look reassured. “I’ll try to find Ms. Moran. And anyone else who’s willing to talk to me.” She turned to Nona and Al. “Thanks for telling me about this. I appreciate it.”

  Nona patted her on the shoulder. “It’ll work out, honey. Don’t worry.”

  “Yeah.” Monica nodded a little shakily. “Probably it will. It’s my business to worry, though.”

  Sonnenfeld narrowed his eyes, and Paul willed him not to say anything. After a moment, he shrugged and headed after Nona toward the concession stand.

  Paul put his hand on the small of her back. Right now reassurance was more important than accuracy. “It’ll be okay, Monica. A little risky, but, you know, okay.”

  “It’s just…” She paused, catching her breath. “I told them this was a lousy idea, but nobody wanted to listen to me. They said I was too cautious and it made for great TV.” She glanced back at the arena entrance. “Looks like the parade’s getting ready to start. You’d better go back to the others so they can get some reaction shots of you guys watching Ronnie on her horse. I’ll go see if I can find somebody in charge to talk to.”

  Paul climbed back to his seat, trying to figure out where the race was likely to be run. There were gates at one end, where they’d probably have the relay teams waiting. They could race to the other end, then turn and go back to the gates. Which meant the people with the ropes would be standing close to the gates, maybe near the walls. Which meant any screw-ups would throw people either against the walls or into the horses.

  He shook his head. More and more he didn’t like this whole idea. If he’d been around when Darryl had pitched it in the first place, he’d have found a way to kill it.

  The music had started over the PA system. He could see horses milling around waiting for the gates to open. Ronnie and her horse were no longer visible, but he figured she’d be far back in the crowd of riders anyway—the experienced riders would be up front.

  Brendan scooted over on the bench, grinning. “T
his is something, isn’t it? I haven’t seen anything like this since I was a kid.”

  “Did you rodeo?” Paul asked hopefully. It might help to have somebody out there who wasn’t a complete amateur.

  Brendan shook his head regretfully. “Nope. I’m allergic to horses—start sneezing if I get too close. But I went to see ’em all the time when I was growing up. It’s the real west, you know?”

  “Right.” Paul sighed. So much for having somebody who’d be able to run interference with a bunch of galloping animals.

  The gates at the end of the arena opened and the first horses entered, their riders carrying flags as they cantered around the ring. He settled back in his seat. At least Ronnie shouldn’t have any trouble for a while.

  Monica had to admit it, at least to herself—Ronnie really did look lovely up on horseback. They’d found her a beautiful bay that seemed to have the disposition of a golden retriever. It trotted along placidly enough, with Ronnie bouncing gaily on its back, her blonde hair drifting in a cloud around her head, her jeans, embroidered shirt and Stetson making her look like one of the real rodeo riders. One camera followed her around the arena, while the other focused on the bachelors.

  Billy Joe was directing smoldering looks in Ronnie’s direction. Brendan watched her worshipfully. Lex grinned as if seeing her was the highlight of his day. And Paul kept looking at the other end of the arena and frowning.

  Monica sighed. They’d probably end up editing out most of his shots. Of course, he occasionally smiled in her direction, which Glenn could probably edit into looking like appreciation for Ronnie. Nobody would have to know who exactly he was smiling at.

  She’d found the woman in charge of the relay race whom Nona Monteith had mentioned, although she didn’t have a whole lot of time to talk since she was also in charge of the calf scramble that was coming up soon. She promised Monica they’d keep an eye on Ronnie, but she also confirmed her worst suspicions—Ronnie and her bachelors would be standing on inverted washtubs midway along the wall.

  “Not much to it,” the rodeo manager explained. “All they have to do is keep their arms straight and let go when the rider catches hold of the other end. The rider will do the rest. Then they can just go back and sit down afterward. Simple.”

  Simple. Of course, so was Ronnie. Monica managed to keep herself from sighing again.

  After the parade was over, Ronnie took her seat in the midst of the guys, with Monica sitting at the side out of camera range so that she could rotate the bachelors through the coveted positions directly beside Ronnie. With Brendan, Billy Joe and Lex, the problem was getting them to move on and let someone else have a chance. With Paul, the problem was getting him to show some enthusiasm about taking his place at all.

  When the man on the PA system announced the calf roping event, she pulled all of them down into the area behind the bleachers to explain the race. Supposedly once all the calves were roped, they’d have the barrel races. Then the relay would take place before the big finish with the bull riders.

  Ronnie was already frowning by the time Monica had finished her explanation. “But I thought we just, you know, handed them the rope. You mean they’re going to be moving when we do it?”

  Monica nodded. “You’ll do it at the start of each race. They get the rope and then they have to pass it on to the other people on the team.” She tried a reassuring smile, but she had a feeling nobody was reassured.

  Ronnie’s forehead was still furrowed. “What if they fall off? I mean, they’re bending over—isn’t that dangerous?”

  Well, at least the possibility of being trampled by a galloping horse hadn’t yet occurred to her. “They’re very good riders, Ronnie, they won’t fall off.”

  “Where are we going to be standing when we do this? Behind the barriers?” Billy Joe looked a little pale. Apparently, the trampling part had occurred to him.

  “As I understand it, you’ll be standing on overturned washtubs on the other side of the barriers,” Monica said carefully. “They’ll set everything up after the barrel racing is over and you can see for yourselves. Somebody’s supposed to do a demo for you.”

  Billy Joe didn’t look reassured, and Monica didn’t blame him. As the calf ropers thundered by in the arena, their horses suddenly looked a lot bigger than they had before.

  “It’s okay,” Paul said, “they have this race all the time. Sometimes they even have kids handing them the ropes. They know what they’re doing.” He gave Ronnie an encouraging smile that didn’t seem to encourage her.

  “I don’t like Ronnie being out there. It’s dangerous,” Brendan said.

  Ronnie shot him an irritated glance. “I’ll be fine. If a kid can do it, I can do it. I’m not some moron who can’t even figure out how to hand somebody a rope.”

  Brendan was immediately contrite. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “You just take care of yourself, Brendan. And I’ll take care of myself.” Ronnie flounced back toward her seat in the stands, followed by a dejected Brendan and a slyly smiling Billy Joe. Lex brought up the rear.

  Paul stood watching Monica for a moment, then slid his arm around her shoulders. “It’s not your fault, you know. No matter what happens—and probably nothing will.”

  “If nothing happens, I think Glenn will be pissed. The whole point is for something to happen.” She closed her eyes for a moment, blowing out a breath. “That’s probably not fair.”

  “The hell with fair.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Hang in there, sweetheart.”

  The heat from his body, the strength of his arms, all of it felt so good she didn’t want to let go. Which meant she had to let go right away or she might not be able to do it at all.

  She stepped back and glanced at the stands again. “I’m all right. You better go back. Faisal’s taking some shots of Ronnie with you guys.”

  “Right. Sure wouldn’t want to miss that.” He grimaced and started back up the stairs to the bleachers.

  In the stadium, one more calf roper readied himself in the chute. Monica stared across the arena—a man was rolling a galvanized metal washtub down the concrete walkway toward the gate at the end. The relay race was getting set up.

  “Well, crap,” she muttered. “Showtime.”

  Paul managed to maneuver himself into being one of the first to go in the rope relay. He figured if Brendan went first, he’d probably get killed. If he had someone else to watch, he might be able to pull it off.

  Billy Joe didn’t look all that anxious to go himself. Lex was setting up on the other side of the arena.

  The “demo” they’d been promised consisted of a bored cowboy saying, “Hold the thing in your outside hand. Let go when the guy on the horse grabs it.”

  Ronnie stared at him blankly. “Which one’s my outside hand?”

  “The hand closest to the horse,” Billy Joe explained tersely. He didn’t look any happier about doing this than Paul, but he’d elected to go second.

  Now Paul stood on the washtub, balancing on the balls of his feet, the rope dangling from his fingers. He wished they’d at least given him a pair of gloves. He had a feeling he was courting rope burn. He turned to face the gate where the horse would come out.

  The crowd noise was a concentrated buzz that went along with the unnatural brightness of the stadium lights. He couldn’t see anybody in the stands and could barely see the gates at the near end of the arena. He knew the horses were there, though. He could hear them snorting.

  A disembodied voice echoed over the loud speaker. “Riders take your mark.”

  According to the cowboy, that was the signal for everybody to get ready. Paul extended the rope as far from his body as he could, letting it dangle from his fingers. Across the arena, he could see Lex doing something similar. As long as the riders didn’t run into them and they didn’t dislocate their fingers when they let go of the rope, they should be okay. Knock on wood.

  Of course, there were a multitude of other things that could conceivably go
wrong, but Paul decided to concentrate his worrying time on simple stuff.

  “Go!” the voice shouted and the two gates snapped open simultaneously with a crash. The horse that galloped toward him was the size of an elephant, its hooves sending clods of earth flying as it thundered down the field in his direction. He fought the impulse to close his eyes, holding his arm as steady as he could.

  The beat of the hooves on the turf vibrated up his arm, and then the rope was gone, jerked from his fingers as the rider sped onward down the arena toward the other end. The crowd noise was deafening, the closest people yelling a mixture of encouragement and profanity. He shook his head trying to clear the noise away.

  “Get out!” somebody shouted. “Get the fuck out of there.”

  Oh yeah. Get out. He jumped off the washtub and ran toward the gate while one of the rodeo clowns pulled the washtub to the side.

  He moved quickly back onto the concrete walkway. Monica was waiting for him.

  “Are you okay?” She grabbed his hands. “Did it hurt?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No. It’s all right. I’m all right. Don’t worry.”

  “Will Ronnie be able to do it?”

  “Sure.” He blew out a breath. Assuming the stars are in alignment. “She’ll be fine, Monica.”

  On the other side of the fence, the horse thundered by again, heading back toward the gates. He turned to watch. “Fine,” he repeated. “Trust me.” He really hoped that was a trustworthy statement.

  At least the races went quickly, given that the riders rode hell for leather and there were only four on a team. Lex and Brendan got through unscathed. Billy Joe got a minor rope burn he swore was serious. Ronnie looked somewhere between annoyed and restless, but at least she didn’t look scared.

  “And now,” the loud speaker announced, “it’s time for the final.”

  “Hold the rope lightly, Ronnie, and stick your arm way out.” Monica’s smile was half-hearted at best.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Ronnie sounded bored. “No big deal. I watched them do it. I can do it.”

  Brendan looked like he was dying to say something, but for once he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.