The Maverick Fakes A Bride!

She’d been so sure she knew how to handle herself. She did know how to handle herself. She was bold. Fearless. Nothing scared her. Ever.

Except this, the Ace packed to bursting, the music so loud. All these people pressing in around her, a casting director waiting to meet her.

And Travis.

Travis, who was counting on her to win them both a spot on The Great Roundup.

Dear Lord, she didn’t want to blow this. She would never forgive herself if she let Travis down.

“There’s Giselle.” Travis waved at a tall, model-skinny woman on the other side of the room. The woman lifted a hand and signaled them to join her. “This way.” His fingers still laced with hers, he started working his way through the crowd, leading her toward the tall woman with cheekbones so sharp they threatened to poke right through her skin.

“Wait.” Brenna dug in her boot heels.

He stopped and turned back to her, a worried frown between his eyebrows. “Bren?” He said her name softly, gently. He knew she was losing it. “What? Tell me.”

She blasted a smile at him and forced a brittle laugh. “Can you just give me a minute?” She tipped her head toward the hallway that led to the ladies’ room. “I’ll be right back.” She tugged free of his grip.

“Brenna—”

“I need to check my lip gloss.”

“But—”

“Right back.” She sent him a quick wave over her shoulder and made for the hallway, scattering Excuse mes as she went, weaving her way as fast as she could through the tight knots of people, ignoring anyone who spoke to her or glanced her way.

When she reached the hallway, she kept on going, her eyes on the glowing green exit sign down at the end. She got to the ladies’ room and she didn’t even slow down. She just kept right on walking down to the end of the hall.

And out the back door.

Chapter Three (#u86892fbf-bd1c-5568-aeb6-49f8e6898205)

The heavy door swung shut behind Brenna, and the racket from inside dimmed a little. She’d emerged into a loading area, with the packed dirt parking lot spread out beyond. Under the light of a few lamps on tall wooden poles, the rows of empty cars waited, not a soul in sight. Brenna shivered at the eeriness of it after the crush of people inside.

With no idea what to do next, she kept walking, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her head tipped down, not knowing where she was going—until she ran right into someone coming the other way.

“Whoa, now...” said a raspy male voice.

She blinked and looked up—first at the dirty top half of a union suit. The shirt was frayed around the wattled neck of an old man with bristly gray whiskers and thinning, scraggly white hair. “Homer,” she said in a dazed whisper. “Homer Gilmore.”

The old man smiled, showing crooked, yellowed teeth. “If it isn’t Brenna O’Reilly. Where you headin’ in such an all-fired hurry?”

“I was just...”

“Runnin’ away?” he finished for her.

Homer was famous in Rust Creek Falls for a number of reasons. He made moonshine that made people throw off their inhibitions. He tended to show up when you least expected him. And he knew things. Travis might scoff at her for saying it, but that didn’t make it any less true. Homer really could read things about people. He always seemed to know intuitively what folks were going through.

She started to deny that she was running anywhere. “I was just—”

“Scared, is what you were. And that is not like you.”

“I got—”

“Stage fright. I know. Sometimes it happens.”

“Homer, how do you—”

“Know things?” He only laughed, a sound every bit as ragged and rusty as the rest of him. And then he lowered his head. Brenna followed his gaze to his gnarled right hand, in which he held a jar of clear liquid.

“Homer, is that—”

“Just what you need about now? Yeah, Brenna. It is.”

She looked up into his watery eyes again. “But I don’t want to get—”

“Drunk? Uh-uh. You won’t be. This is just a little magic for you, that’s all. A little nudge in the right direction for this one time. Look at me, Brenna.” His voice was softer now. She could just wrap it around her, it sounded so soothing and good. She looked right into his eyes.

“Say what you’re thinking,” he instructed.

And she did. “I’m still afraid, but it’s okay. I’m bigger than my fear.”

“That’s right. That’s the spirit.” He held out the jar. “Take one long drink, Brenna O’Reilly. And then get back in there and show them what you’re made of.”

She took the jar and unscrewed the lid.

* * *

Travis was getting really worried.

And not only about the fact that Giselle kept shooting him dirty looks and mouthing, “Where is she?” across the crowded dance floor at him.

He was worried about Brenna. She’d looked so upset when she took off for the restroom. He shouldn’t have let her go like that. He should have gone with her, made sure she got there safe, made sure she was okay.

She’d seemed so cocky and confident yesterday, so completely Brenna, out there behind the beauty shop. He’d really believed she could handle anything The Great Roundup could throw at her. So he’d gotten her into this.

Travis had pulled some crazy stunts in his life, but one thing he’d always done right was to look out for Brenna O’Reilly. He’d protected her from more than one potential disaster.

Not tonight, though. Something was really bothering her, and he knew it. And still, he’d let her leave his side.

It was an error in judgment on his part, and he needed to rectify that. He needed to stop standing here like a damn fool and go after her.

He started for the hallway that led to the restrooms. People pushed in around him, and he just pushed back. Nodding, forcing a smile when anyone spoke to him, he kept going until he reached the hallway, where a line of women waited to get into the restroom. Brenna was not among them.

He was just trying to decide whether or not to barge into the ladies’ room shouting her name when the door all the way down at the end of the hallway opened—and there she was.

“Brenna!”

She tipped her chin high so he could see her face clearly under the brim of her hat. She spotted him—and she smiled, a bright, glowing smile. Hot damn, she was gorgeous.