The Maverick Fakes A Bride!

She gave a chuckle, sweet and low. “I kind of thought that you might. The thing is, playing your fake fiancée on a reality show is not exactly what I would call settling down. And what are the odds against us, anyway? How many will end up competing with us?”

“I think there are twenty-two contestants total, so it’s you and me and twenty others.”

“Meaning that however we split the money, odds are someone else will take home the big prize.”

He pushed off the wall, took her by the shoulders and looked deeply into those ocean-blue eyes. “First rule. Never, ever say we might not win. We will win. Half the battle is the mental game. Defeat is not an option. Winning is the only acceptable outcome.”

She got it, she really did. He could feel it in the sudden straightening of her shoulders beneath his hands, see it in the bright gleam that lit those wide eyes. “Yeah. You’re right. We will win.”

“That’s it. Hold that thought.” He let go of her shoulders but held her gaze.

She said, “We really would be increasing our chances, the two of us together. Together, we can work out strategies, you know? We can plan how to handle whatever they throw at us.”

“Exactly. We would have each other’s backs. So what do you say, Bren?”

“I still want half the money.” A gust of wind slipped into the three-sided enclosure and stirred her hair, blowing a few fiery strands across her mouth.

He smoothed them out of the way, guiding them behind her ear, thinking how soft her pale skin was and marveling at how she’d grown up to be downright hot. It was a good thing he’d always promised himself he’d never make a move on her. Add that promise to the fact that he’d sworn off women and he should be able to keep from getting any romantic ideas about her.

“Travis?” She searched his face. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“I heard.” He ordered his mind off her inconvenient hotness and set it on coming up with more reasons she should take less than half the prize.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of a single one.

So all right, then. His new house and his investment in the ranch would be smaller. But his chances of winning had just doubled—more than doubled. Because Brenna was a fighter, and together they would go all the way to the win.

“Fair enough, Bren. Fifty-fifty, you and me.” He held up his hand.

She slapped a high five on it. “I’ll be right back.”

He caught her before she could get away. “There’s more we need to talk about.”

“Not until I get the okay from Bee, we don’t.” She glanced down at his fingers wrapped around her upper arm.

He let go. “What will you say to her?”

“That I might have a chance on The Great Roundup, but to try for it, I need to know that she’ll let me have my booth back on August 1.”

“Good. That’s good. Don’t mention the engagement yet. We still need to decide how to handle that.”

She let out another sweet, happy laugh—and then mimed locking her mouth and tossing away the key. “My lips are sealed,” she whispered, then whirled on her heel and headed for the back door.

Five endless minutes later, she returned.

“Well?” he asked, his heart pounding a worried rhythm beneath his ribs.

Her smile burst wide open. “Bee wished us luck.”

“And?”

“Yes, she’ll hold my booth for me.”

He almost grabbed her and hugged her, but caught himself in time. “Excellent.”

“Yeah—and is there some reason we need to hang around out here? Let’s go in. I’ll give you that trim you pretended you needed.”

He heard a scratching sound, boots crunching gravel. “What’s that?”

He signaled for silence and stuck his head out of the enclosure in time to see the back of crazy old Homer Gilmore as he scuttled away across the parking lot toward the community center on Main, the next street over.

Brenna stuck her head out, too. “It’s just Homer.”

They retreated together back into the enclosure. He asked, “You think he heard us?”

She was completely unconcerned. “Even if he did, Homer’s not going to say anything.”

“And you know this how?”

“He’s a little odd, but he minds his own business.”

“A little odd? He’s the one who spiked the punch with moonshine at Braden and Jennifer’s wedding two years ago.”

“So?” The wind stirred her hair again. She combed it back off her forehead with her fingers. “He never gossips or carries tales. To tell you the truth, I trust him.”

“Because...?”

“It’s just, well, I don’t know. I have this feeling that he looks out for me, like a guardian angel or a fairy godmother.”

Travis couldn’t help scoffing, “One who just happens to be a peculiar old homeless man.”

“He’s not homeless. People just assume he is. He’s got a shack on Falls Mountain he stays in.”

“Who told you that?”

“He did. And he’s not going to say anything. I guarantee it. Now, let’s go in and—”

Travis put up a hand. “Just a minute. A couple more things. Starting tomorrow night, we’re madly in love. You’ll need to convince a bunch of LA TV people that I’m the only guy for you.”

“Well, that’s a lot to ask,” she teased. “But I’ll do my best.”

“You’ll need to make everyone in town believe it, too—including your family. They all have to think we’re for real.”

“Trav, I can do it.” She was all determination now. “You can count on me.”

“That’s what I needed to hear.”

“Then, can we go in?”