Read Finding Mr. Right Now Online

Authors: Meg Benjamin

Tags: #Salt Box, #romantic comedy, #reality show, #Colorado, #TV producer, #mountains, #small town

Finding Mr. Right Now (9 page)

“What about our luggage?” Monica called.

“You can get it from the garage. Or Praeger House can send somebody to pick it up. They’ll know where it is.” He gunned the motor and took off back down the highway.

She watched him disappear around a bend in the road.

“What if he’s not really a mechanic,” Ronnie whispered. “What if he stole the car? It’s got all my stuff in it.”

Monica counted to ten, slowly. “He had a tow truck,” she said in a level voice. “It had the name of the garage on the side. The automobile club called him to come and get us.”

“But what if he lied?” Ronnie asked plaintively.

Monica felt as if something snapped in her chest, probably her patience, given the hot jolt of irritation that washed over her. “He didn’t lie. Why would he? The car’s been in a wreck, it’s not something he can sell down the road. Jesus, he’s a mechanic. He’s taking the SUV into town to fix it. That’s all there is to it!”

Ronnie stared at her wide-eyed, one hand pressed against her lips. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she caught her breath in a sob. “I’m s-s-s-sorry,” she wailed.

Brendan put his arms around her, pulling her against his shoulder. “There, there, you just cry it out, honey. It’s all gonna be okay.” Above Ronnie’s head, his eyes were like laser beams turning Monica to ash.

Monica felt as if she’d just kicked Lassie.

“Car’s coming.” Paul came to stand beside her, nodding toward the highway.

“Probably our ride to Salt Box.” She slipped her purse strap over her arm and headed toward the roadside, ready to flag down whoever it was. Even if it wasn’t their ride, she was ready to beg anybody passing by to take them into town. Or maybe to take Ronnie to town and leave her here by the side of the road to contemplate her sins in private.

The car that came around the curve toward them wasn’t exactly what she was expecting. She would have assumed it was a stress-induced mirage, except that she could hear the engine sound. It approached them with a well-polished, powerful hum, long, black and sleek. If they hadn’t been standing by the side of the road in northwestern Colorado, she might have thought it was the Batmobile.

Paul whistled softly. “Holy shit.”

“What is it?”

“Lincoln Town Car. The limousine version. Not the newest, but sweet.”

As it drifted nearer, Monica made out the letters painted in gold on the side: “Praeger House, Salt Box, Colorado.”

The car pulled to a stop in front of them. The man who opened the driver’s side door looked like he belonged in a different movie. He wore jeans and a flannel shirt, along with thick-soled hiking boots. His brown hair was almost as long as Paul’s, and his dark beard stubble looked like what Billy Joe was trying to achieve and failing. Grizzly Adams with a limo.

“You the folks who need a ride?” he asked, his voice a rumbling basso profundo.

“Yes, sir,” Monica squeaked. She seemed to be having a “yes, sir” kind of day. She stepped forward quickly. “I’m Monica McKellar, with Fairstein Productions. We’re supposed to be at Elkhorn Run, but we had a problem with a deer.”

The mountain man nodded once, his face expressionless. “Clark Denham. I’m here to get you into town. Supposed to be a couple of rooms at the hotel, but it’s the busy season—lots of hikers and fishermen around. If the hotel can’t handle all of you, you can head over to the Black Rose B&B.”

“Great.” Monica licked her lips. Clark Denham clearly wasn’t part of customer relations. Probably the maintenance man who got roped into chauffeur duty. She turned back to the others. “Come on, let’s go. We’ll sort everything out when we get to town.”

Billy Joe narrowed his eyes. “Is Fairstein paying?”

She blew out a quick breath. “Yes, of course. Come on. We need to get checked in so that I can call the car rental agency and let Glenn know where we are.”

Ronnie gave her a mutinous look, her lower lip jutting outward in a pout. “What about my stuff?”

“It’s at the garage. We’ll pick it up when we get there.”

“How do we know where his garage is?” She dropped her voice slightly. “How do we know there even
is
a garage?”

Monica’s hands balled into fists. It occurred to her that she’d never screamed at one of the contestants before. Now she could scream at four of them in one fell swoop.

“You could ask,” Brendan said, reproachfully. “It wouldn’t hurt anything.” His hand rested on Ronnie’s shoulder, probably the only thing that was preventing Ronnie from stalking off down the road.

Well, that and the fact that apparently she really did want her stuff.

You owe them. It’s your job.
Monica took a deep cleansing breath and turned back to the driver. “Is Mr. Monteith’s garage anywhere nearby? We do need to pick up our suitcases from the car.”

Denham shrugged. “Pretty much everything in Salt Box is nearby. Al’s garage is three or four blocks from Praeger House.”

“Okay, thanks.” Monica moved to open the car door, but Denham beat her to it, sweeping the door open and bowing slightly. She wasn’t entirely sure whether he was mocking her, but she wasn’t inclined to argue. “Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.” He looked up at Ronnie. “Miss?”

For a moment, Monica was afraid Ronnie might bolt. Her eyes widened as she stared at Denham. Then she apparently decided he wasn’t a serial killer after all. “It’s Ronnie,” she said, giving him one of her angel grins. “Ronnie Valero, actually.”

Denham’s expression didn’t change. “Well, Miss Valero, please have a seat.”

Ronnie’s smile dimmed perceptibly. Most of the people she’d met in the last few weeks recognized her.

Monica scooted over to the far side of the car. “Come on in, Ronnie.”

Ronnie took her seat, staring straight ahead. Billy Joe managed to beat Brendan into the car so that he was sitting next to her with Brendan on the far side. Denham put Faisal’s equipment bag in the trunk, then climbed into the driver’s seat while Faisal and Paul slid in beside him in front.

Denham gave them an expression that approached a reluctant smile. “Well, folks, welcome to Salt Box. Hope you enjoy your stay, what there is of it.”

Paul glanced around the car, then leaned one shoulder against the window. “Believe me, I’m already enjoying this. And I have a feeling the fun’s just beginning.”

His brown curls drifted across his forehead, eyes dark in the afternoon sunlight. Monica’s pulse gave a quick thump.

Fun should be the last thing on your mind.

True, but right now it seemed to have moved up several places.

Chapter Seven

Paul leaned back against the seat, watching the scenery go by. He couldn’t remember if his family had ever visited Salt Box when he was young, but the landscape around here did look vaguely familiar. Not that that meant anything. Most of the Rockies looked vaguely familiar to him by now. He knew they’d never skied Elkhorn. No way they could have afforded the lift tickets.

The car simmered with that kind of uncomfortable silence that came from several people feeling miffed.
Miffed
was the right word too. Ronnie was definitely miffed. Monica would probably have to find a way to mollify her, although Paul wasn’t sure why she’d bother. In fact, he was amazed Monica had lasted as long as she had. He himself had been contemplating the pleasure of giving Ronnie a quick kick in the butt ever since they’d left Denver.

The driver, Denham, slowed at an intersection where another highway branched off. The sign at the crossroads said “Salt Box, 1 mile.”

“How far is the town from Elkhorn Run?” he asked.

Denham shrugged. “Ten or twelve miles. We get a lot of the tourists who don’t want to pay the prices at the resort.”

“Who do you get this time of year? Hikers and fishermen?”

“And kayakers. And bikers. And people touring on motorcycles.” He turned again following the river. “We’re pretty much a year-round tourist attraction. In the winter the crowds are bigger, but most of the skiers stay at the resort. We get the snowboarders and cross country people and some snow-shoers. There’s a state park outside town with a lot of trails.”

He took another turn, and they were suddenly staring up Main Street, Salt Box, Colorado. The town seemed to be laid out on a grid, the pattern of streets and alleys sandwiched between the river on one side and the towering peaks of the ski area on the other.

A cluster of umbrella tables along Main marked a café. Paul could see shop windows on either side of the long, curving street, along with what looked to be a lot of bars. Side streets branched off with a scattering of houses, including some vintage two-room miners’ cabins.

Several people walked the sidewalks—families with children in tow, college-age kids in cargo pants and T-shirts, with occasional mountain bikers dodging between the parked cars. Pickups and SUVs jockeyed for parking places, along with the occasional cattle truck. “Lot of traffic,” he mused.

“About normal for late summer.” Denham shrugged. “This time of day people start hitting the cafés for dinner.”

Several cars with kayaks strapped to the top racks and the occasional canoe were parked along the riverside.

“Is that the East Fork River?”

Denham nodded. “It’s down this time of year but people are still out there.”

“What the hell is that?” Faisal leaned forward staring up through the windshield.

Paul followed his pointing hand. A couple of comma-shaped objects glided through the sky above one of the nearby hills.

“Paragliders.” Denham shrugged. “Catching updrafts. Best in the late afternoon, long as there’s no thunderstorms. Then it can get a mite hairy.”

“Damn,” Faisal muttered. “And me without a camera.”

“We’ve got some point-and-shoot ones at the hotel,” Denham said.

Faisal shook his head. “I’ve got a still camera. It’s the video camera that got damaged in the wreck.”

Denham frowned slightly, turning up one of the side streets. “A guy here in town might be able to help. He does a lot of camera stuff. Maybe he can repair it for you.”

Faisal rolled his eyes, but Paul didn’t think Denham saw. He hoped so, anyway. No use getting a reputation for being snotty this early in their stay.

“What’s that?” Monica asked suddenly.

Paul stared through the windshield at a gray stone building at the end of the road that seemed like a cross between the Addams Family home and Blenheim Palace. It was perched on top of a small ridge, a large central structure, complete with turret and two wings extending out like arms that enclosed a stone courtyard.

“That,” said Denham, “is Praeger House. The hotel. Built in 1906 for Emanuel Praeger. Private residence for a lot of years, then it had some other owners including a school for troubled girls.” His mouth edged up into another dry smile. “Been a hotel since the mid-eighties. Current owner took over in 2006.”

“Wow,” Ronnie said softly. “It looks like something out of Harry Potter.”

“Or
The Shining
,” Faisal muttered.

“That’s in Estes Park,” Denham said calmly. “Steven King never set foot in this place far as I know. All our ghosts are home-grown.”

“Ghosts?” Ronnie whispered. “There are ghosts?”

Denham frowned, glancing at her curiously in the rearview mirror.

Paul could feel the tension in the car. “They’re all friendly,” he blurted. “Friendly ghosts. Like Casper.”

Faisal stared at him. He had a feeling Faisal wasn’t the only one. Denham looked like he was fighting another sardonic smile.

“Friendly?” Ronnie sounded doubtful.

“Right, well, they’re in a hotel,” Paul improvised. “They stayed around because they like people. I mean, if they didn’t like people, they wouldn’t haunt a place where there were so many people around, right?”

“Absolutely,” Monica said flatly. “No scary ghosts. Only friendly spirits. Look how beautiful it is, Ronnie. You’ll love it.”

“Beautiful.” Ronnie still sounded uncertain, but Denham was pulling in front of the main entrance now.

“Colleen’s at the front desk. She’ll help you. I’ll try to scare up somebody to go over to Monteith’s for your luggage.”

Paul climbed out, followed by Faisal, while Brendan and Billy Joe climbed out more or less together, trying to flank Ronnie.

Monica stepped up to Denham. “Thank you so much for all you’ve done, Mr. Denham.” Paul guessed she was trying to figure out how to give Denham a tip without embarrassing herself or him. “What’s the charge for chauffeuring us over here?”

Denham gave her a slow smile. “No charge. I’m always glad to chauffeur guests.”

“Oh.” She smiled a little tentatively. “I was afraid we might have interrupted your work.”

“It’s okay, this is part of my work,” Denham said gently. “I own the Praeger House, Ms. McKellar.”

“Oh,” she repeated. Her cheeks turned pink. Good lord, she was blushing! Paul resisted the urge to study her more closely. Monica kept revealing interesting new facets. Plus the pink cheeks showed off that creamy complexion. Strawberries and cream now. Still lickable.

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