Finding Mr. Right Now (20 page)

When she stepped inside the restaurant and looked around, Ronnie was easy to spot. One waiter leaned against the table, smiling, while another looked on from the side. Apparently all she had to do was sit down to collect an entourage.

Ronnie caught sight of her and waved. “Hi Monica. Are you still going to have lunch with me? I didn’t know if you’d make it or not.”

“Sure.” Monica dropped into the seat beside her. “Maybe we can talk about the rodeo.”

Ronnie narrowed her eyes. “Maybe we can’t. Couldn’t we have a meal where we don’t say anything at all about the show?”

Monica blinked. Was it even remotely possible that Ronnie was wising up? She’d already been wrong about Darryl, who was, in fact, a lot bigger asshole than he’d originally seemed. She’d hate to be wrong about Ronnie too.

“I’ll try not to interrupt your meal,” she said a little stiffly, “but there are some things we need to discuss.”

“Then we can talk about it after I have my salad.” Ronnie sighed. “I don’t want to talk with my mouth full.”

Monica gritted her teeth.
Oh, this is just a peach of a day!
“Okay, honey. We’ll talk later.”

Chapter Fourteen

Paul surveyed the Salt Box rodeo arena from the side where the bachelors had been herded. He’d gone to rodeos when he was a kid—the ones at the Denver Stock Show and Cheyenne Frontier Days—but this was different. Much smaller for one thing.

The interior was the usual long oval, with a covered grandstand at one end and bleachers extending along the sides. A concrete walkway along the bottom tier was separated from the performance area by a cyclone fence. Another fence spread across the far end, separating the animal pens from the arena. He could see and hear cattle and horses muttering and complaining. The sharp animal smell filled the air.

He could also see a few faces he recognized on the benches several yards down from him. Clark Denham sat with a vaguely familiar woman who might have been one of the waitresses at the Blarney Stone. Al Monteith from the garage leaned against the fence, watching a couple of clowns go through their paces. Al’s mother, whose name temporarily escaped him, was sitting with another vaguely familiar figure. When that familiar figure turned his head toward the other side, Paul recognized Dick Sonnenfeld. Mrs. Monteith caught his gaze and waved merrily. Sonnenfeld confined himself to a smirk.

Paul turned back toward the far end of the arena. Riders in jeans, elaborate cowboy shirts and Stetsons were milling around outside the main gate, waiting for the opening parade. He could see Ronnie in their midst, wearing a black shirt embroidered with neon-bright red roses, along with a Stetson so white it made his teeth ache.

Actually, the whole thing made his teeth ache, not that there was anything he could do about it one way or the other. They still hadn’t been told what they’d be doing as part of their group rodeo “date.” Ronnie was riding in the parade, and the rest of them were supposed to sit in the grandstand and cheer for her. It didn’t strike Paul as much of an evening, but he figured there was undoubtedly more to come.

At the moment, he was looking for Monica. Two days of limited contact while he was forced to make inane conversation with Ronnie on camera hadn’t exactly improved his mood. He needed to talk to Monica. He also needed to touch her. In fact, he needed to do more than that, and he intended to do it soon, even if it took some maneuvering. As long as he was one of Ronnie’s suitors, he was under observation by the crew, the other bachelors, and probably some freelance paparazzi who’d love to sell some shots to the tabloids. They always had people with cell phone cameras snapping pictures on the sidelines.

He really wished Ronnie would just vote him off the show and get it over with. Then he could start devoting some serious time to Monica. Surely Ronnie realized how far he was from being her Mr. Right.

Didn’t she?

A commotion at one end of the arena was the cue that the parade was about to start. Simultaneously, he caught sight of Monica hovering at the side of the bleachers with her clipboard. Her hair was smoothed out and her forehead was furrowed. Back into work mode.

He climbed down from his seat, then stepped beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Hey.”

She glanced back at him quickly, the corners of her mouth edging up. “Hey yourself. How are you?”

“I’ve missed you.” The words slipped out before he had a chance to think about it.

She licked her lips, her gaze flicking to him and back to her clipboard again. “I missed you too,” she murmured.

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. “This 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.