Finding Mr. Right Now (10 page)

“Go on in and let Colleen fix you up.” Denham nodded at the two of them. “Nice meeting you all.”

Monica watched the Lincoln head back down the driveway again. She still looked slightly pink. And delectable. After a moment, she shrugged. “So I guess this is the resort part of town.”

“Apparently.” Paul nodded at the door. “After you.”

She started up the wide front stairs toward a pair of carved front doors. He resisted the urge to study that very nice ass as he followed her. The door handles looked like pieces of gnarled pine that had been stained a deep mahogany.

He reached across to pull the door open. “Oh my,” Monica murmured.

The lobby spread across most of the first floor. Couches and easy chairs were scattered around the room near shelves of books and magazines. A massive stone fireplace took up the far wall, disappearing into the dimness of the high ceiling.

Billy Joe, Brendan, Faisal and Ronnie stood in front of a desk at the side. They turned toward the two of them expectantly.

Monica sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance I won’t have to share a room with Ronnie.”

“Not unless you want Brendan or Billy Joe to do it, which I wouldn’t suggest,” Paul muttered.

The woman behind the desk glanced their way, then folded her arms across her chest. She reminded Paul of his fourth grade teacher—very tall and solid, with iron gray hair clipped short around her pale face. Her mouth narrowed accusingly as they walked toward her.

“You the accident folks?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Monica said quickly.

“We don’t have many rooms available. Most people come with reservations.”

Monica blew out a breath. “If we’d known what was going to happen, I’d have been happy to make some myself. We’ll take anything you have.”

“I got two rooms. One with a queen, one with a twin bed and a fold-out—it’s a staff room, but it’s empty right now. We’ll give you a good break on the price. I hear there’s a room at the Black Rose too. I can call over there if you want.”

Billy Joe’s sneer was back. “A fold-out. What did I tell you? Sleeping on the couch.”

Monica gave him a baleful look, then turned back to the desk clerk. “Okay. Ronnie and I will take the room with the queen. Faisal and Paul can have the singles. And we’ll send Brendan and Billy Joe over to the Black Rose.” She narrowed her eyes at Billy Joe. “Whatever it is.”

Billy Joe’s jaw firmed, but Brendan grinned. “Sounds cool. Where is it?”

“Back down the street about a block,” the desk clerk said. “White frame house with blue trim. Set back from the street. I’ll call over and tell them you’re coming.”

“Let’s go,” Brendan said cheerfully. “First one there gets their choice on the bed.” He headed out the door at a brisk trot.

Billy Joe stared fixedly at the door, then back at Monica. “Seriously? I mean, seriously?”

She gave him a flat smile. “Seriously. Tell them to send the bill to me.”

The room wasn’t as bad as Paul had thought it might be. The fold-out had a decent mattress, and the single was a true single rather than a cot. Faisal dropped his equipment bag and flexed his shoulders. “I’m going to the bar down the street. I saw it on the way up.”

“Go ahead.” Paul settled onto the single bed, pulling out his cell phone. He had messages from Harriet and one from Darryl that he had no intention of answering, as well as a voice mail from his agent.

“No word from El Capitan yet, kid.” Leland’s voice sounded brisk on his voicemail. “I’m hearing unofficially that it’s still in the air, though. Keep the faith. Also, there’s a new Great Race rip-off coming on at Fox. Word is they’re looking for freelancers. Give me a call.”

Paul grimaced. The last thing he wanted was another gig in the reality television business, even if it was with a bigger production company.

The last number on his message list was Cathe’s. He stared at it for a long moment. He could always pretend he hadn’t gotten the message, but that wouldn’t keep her from calling back, multiple times. Might as well get it over with. He punched in her number, then leaned back against the pillows.

The phone rang three times and he began to hope she wasn’t around, but then she picked up. “Paul? Hi. Anything new? I’ve got a deadline coming up. Anything you can pass on would help.”

He rubbed his eyes. Cathe always had a deadline coming up. “Nothing interesting, Cath. You know how the business is.” No way in hell was he telling her about being in Salt Box, Colorado, much less about his current role in
Finding Mr. Right
. Even though she’d be really pissed when she found out once the episodes started airing. Maybe she’d be pissed enough to stop calling.

“Paulie,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a seductive purr, “there’s always something. Come on, give.”

“The company’s in Elkhorn Run, Colorado. They’re shooting at a hotel there. Other than that, I’ve got nothing.”

Cathe sighed. “That’s not much, but I guess I can go with it. They haven’t released their location yet.” Her voice warmed again. “Want to go out for sushi in an hour or so? Or, even better, stay in for sushi?”

Right. Not hardly.
At least at the moment, he had an excellent excuse, being several hundred miles away.
“I can’t,” he said carefully. “I’m working.”

“Oh? Any problems?” The seductiveness dropped away quickly. Paul could picture her hands poised over her keyboard.

“Not really. Just the usual last minute details.”
Like going into a ditch and ending up in the Praeger House.

“Are you avoiding me, Paulie?”

“I’m busy right now. I’ll talk to you later. Take care.” He disconnected quickly before she could say anything else.

You’re a coward, Paul Dewitt.
Probably true.
You’ve already repaid her a dozen times over for whatever help she gave you going in.
Almost certainly true. And once he got back to L.A., he’d have to do something about it. A sudden image of Monica flashed through his mind, with her creamy skin and butterscotch hair. Maybe seeing her would clear the sour taste of Cathe from his mouth.

Fortunately, the room Monica shared with Ronnie was very nice. It was decorated western style, with overstuffed chairs and a rustic-looking couch that was surprisingly comfortable. And the bed looked comfortable too. In fact, the bed looked so comfortable that it was all Monica could do not to curl up in it now. She hadn’t wanted to pull the covers up over her head since she was six, but at the moment she felt like it.

She was still trying to make up for yelling at Ronnie. All evidence to the contrary, Ronnie apparently didn’t get yelled at all that often. “I’m really sorry for snapping at you,” she said as they climbed the stairs to the third floor. “It’s just been one of those days.”

Ronnie lifted her chin, giving her a long-suffering look. “That’s okay. I know you didn’t really mean it. Do you think my stuff is here?”

Monica closed her eyes, counting to ten for perhaps the hundredth time that day. “No. Not yet. It’ll probably take a while. Why don’t you go down and order yourself some dinner?”

“Aren’t you going to have dinner with me?” Ronnie’s eyes were wide with hurt again.

Monica bit her lip. “Sure. Of course. But I have to make some calls first. I figured you wouldn’t want to wait around here for me to finish.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Ronnie gave her a glistening smile. “I don’t mind waiting.”

Monica sank into one of the overstuffed chairs, trying not to watch Ronnie watching her, and pulled out her cell phone. “Why don’t you turn on the television? This may take a while.”

Ronnie’s forehead wrinkled, as if tackling the television remote was somewhat daunting, but she was soon cheerfully channel surfing.

Monica started dialing.

The rental car agency was a pain in the ass. Glenn Donovan was a bigger one. She didn’t tell him about the broken camera. Let him find out when they arrived at Elkhorn Run.
If
they arrived at Elkhorn Run.

“Can we go eat now?” Ronnie asked brightly, flipping to another channel.

Monica sighed. Left to her own devices, she’d probably have ordered a burger from room service. Of course, she didn’t know whether the Praeger House actually had room service. Or a restaurant.

“Sure,” she mumbled. “Let’s go see what there is.”

Colleen, the room clerk, still stood behind the desk where they’d checked in, clicking away at a computer screen.

“Excuse me. Does the hotel have a restaurant?” Monica asked.

Colleen shrugged without looking up. “It’s not open for dinner, just breakfast. We have some premade sandwiches and salads in the cooler and there’s chips on the rack.” She gestured toward a refrigerated case down the hall. “Or you can go downtown. Lots of restaurants. Closest is Lolly Madrid’s half a block up State, and if you go one street over to Third, there’s the Blarney Stone. They got burgers and stuff like that. Bar food.”

Presumably, they would also have the margarita that Monica had decided she desperately needed. “That would be fine,” she said firmly.

“A bar?” Ronnie said doubtfully. “We’re going to eat in a bar?”

“Indeed we are.”

The evening air had a bite, and Monica suddenly remembered they were in the mountains. She thought longingly of the sweater in her suitcase, which might be on its way from the garage. Briefly she considered waiting until their luggage arrived but then rejected the idea. Anything that slowed their progress toward margaritaville was to be avoided. She quickened her pace, swinging her arms for warmth.

“It’s cold!” Ronnie sounded annoyed, as if the temperature were a personal insult.

“We’re up about seven thousand feet. The evenings are cooler here.”

“This isn’t cool, it’s cold.” Ronnie clip-clopped along behind in her platform sandals.

The streets were an odd mixture of houses—large, contemporary A-frames, sprawling log cabins, and a few cottages that looked like only a single room. Warm pools of light from the streetlights were the only interruptions in the deep velvet darkness around them. Monica could hear the murmur of water somewhere nearby and smell the sweet lingering scent of willows.

She took in a deep breath that seemed to chill her lungs and then cleanse them. For the first time in days, her shoulders began to relax.

“Is it much farther? My feet hurt.”

Her shoulders immediately returned to full clench. “It should be on the next street.”

She heard the music before she saw the Blarney Stone. In the back of her mind, she’d been expecting shamrocks and Celtic music. Instead, she heard the stark opening guitar chords of “Purple Haze.”

The corners of her mouth edged up. “This must be the place.”

“I don’t…” Ronnie began, but then they were inside.

The building seemed to be divided into two sections, connected by a short, narrow passage. The larger room had a bar across one side with wooden booths tucked across the other and tables scattered in between. The music came from an old-style jukebox in the corner. Monica could have sworn it was pulsing in time to Jimi Hendrix.

The other side of the building looked like a dining room—wooden tables and chairs, with a kitchen pass-through window at the far end. There were two or three groups at the tables, mostly older people, finishing up dinner.

The bar, on the other hand, was packed with raucous types, talking, laughing, and shouting. The clash-ping of pinball machines echoed from the far side, while Jimi Hendrix wailed away.

Ronnie turned automatically toward the dining room, but Monica took hold of her arm, pulling her into the bar.

“I don’t think…” she began again.

“Don’t think,” Monica told her flatly. “Just find a seat.”

“Ronnie, hey Ronnie, over here!” Brendan waved wildly from a table at the side.

Monica put her hand on Ronnie’s elbow, pushing her gently but firmly through the crowd. If she had to be Ronnie’s paid companion for a couple of days, at least she was going to enjoy herself!

Chapter Eight

Paul watched Monica steer Ronnie through the bar crowd. Neither of them was exactly dressed for the mountains at night, given they still wore what they’d worn on the flight from L.A. Ronnie had on a short skirt and one of those clingy tops the bachelorettes always seemed to favor. She also still wore those killer sandals that made it hard for her to walk.

It occurred to him that being able to run was a good thing in the mountains, given the number of situations—everything from bears to rock slides—where you might want to move fast.

Monica still wore the jeans and dark blue blouse. The curve of her breasts that showed faintly through the fabric seemed designed to fit in his hands. His palms itched briefly.

Not that he was going to make any moves.
Right. And you probably believe that too.

Brendan moved over quickly to pull up a chair for Ronnie. Billy Joe, on the other side of the table and out-maneuvered for once, jumped to his feet and moved around to plop down beside her. Monica stood staring at the chairs, trying to figure out where she was going to sit, assuming she didn’t sit on Billy Joe’s lap.