The Reluctant Bachelor

“For all you know I complained then, too.” She tried to laugh, but it didn’t sound right.

Rick frowned. Something didn’t add up. “I thought you were a producer. Shouldn’t all this be part of your job?” Lizzie stuffed the pickle into her mouth, making talking impossible. His frown deepened. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She chewed, then swallowed. “It’s complicated.”

“You are still on the show, right?”

She nodded. “I’m executive producer. For now.”

“For now?” She was about to fill her mouth with crackers, but he stayed her arm. “Tell me.”

She sighed. “It’s no big deal.”

“If you can’t tell me, then yes, it is.”

She looked down at the plate. Finally, she lifted her gaze to meet his. “If you don’t do the show, we’re canceled.”

CHAPTER FOUR

ELIZABETHPOUREDthe eightieth cup of coffee that morning before returning to the kitchen. Rick turned to beam at her from the dish sink, and her breath caught in her throat. Remind her why this man wasn’t taken. She shook her head at the stupidity of the women in this town out in the sticks. Being small-town didn’t mean being foolish, but these women needed to get a clue and snap Rick up before two dozen gorgeous contestants descended here.

She paused. Was she really considering moving the show? She shook her head. This place was getting to her.

A bell over the door signaled a new customer. Elizabeth took a deep breath and walked into the dining room, almost mowing down an older version of Rick. He glanced at her outfit. “You’re the producer?”

Elizabeth held out her hand. “Dan, right? I’m Elizabeth.” She marveled at the strength of his handshake. “And yes, I’m the producer. But at the moment, I’m a waitress. Can I get you some coffee?”

“He likes it black and strong.” Rick joined them and leaned on the counter. “Shouldn’t you be checking the floats or bands or something?”

Dan accepted the cup she offered him and took a sip. “It’s been done.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Floats?”

Rick nodded toward the windows, where people had started gathering on the sides of Main Street. “The Pickle Parade starts at noon. And Dan the man is the grand marshal again.”

“That’s what I came to talk to Elizabeth about.” Dan leaned against the counter. “Ever ridden in the back of a convertible and waved to a crowd?”

Rick stepped in between them. “Forget it. She’s busy.”

“Pouring coffee and slinging hash? I need her more.” Dan sighed and ran his hand through his hair, reminding Elizabeth of his brother. “Miss Brown County can’t make it now, and the people need to see someone new. Someone classy.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “She’ll have to do.”

She was sure there was a compliment in there somewhere. “I can’t possibly do it dressed like this.” She glanced at her brand-spanking-new purple T-shirt and jeans.

Dan grabbed her hand. “Martha’s across the street. I’m sure she’ll have something that will fit you.”

Rick grabbed her other hand. “Dan, Elizabeth never agreed to do it. When are you going to stop and realize that not everyone jumps when you tell them to?”

Dan pulled her closer to him. “She has to do this. It’s her responsibility.”

Rick tugged her back to his side. “It’s your responsibility to make sure that people show up. Not hers.”

“Gentlemen.” Elizabeth removed her hands from theirs and held them out to separate the brothers. “First of all, I can choose for myself. Second—” she looked between them, then nodded “—I’ll help out.”

Rick stared at her. “Lizzie, you don’t—”

“You wanted me to get to know the community, right?” She smiled wider. “What better way than from the back of a convertible?” She turned to Dan. “So where’s Martha? Let’s see what she has.”

Dan grinned back at her, and she was struck by how good the Allyn boys looked. “I knew I liked you. Come with me.”

* * *

RICKWATCHEDFROMthe sidelines as Lizzie, dressed in a pink sparkly dress, passed by sitting on the back of a red convertible. She even blew a kiss to him. Or perhaps to the kid standing in front of him, but it landed in his general direction. He’d take what he could get.

When the parade ended, he locked up the diner and joined the crowd as they walked down the street to the park, where rides and booths had magically appeared over the past few nights. He found Lizzie still standing near the convertible, surrounded by a group of local men who were trying to get her attention. When she turned and smiled at him, he lost his breath.

Must be the gasoline fumes.

He moved through the crowd and parked himself closest to her. “Madam, I believe we have a date.”

She raised one eyebrow. “We do?”

“With a deep-fried pickle. I believe I promised you one?” He put his hand at the small of her back. “I know where they sell the best.”

She sighed deeply as they left the crowd. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“Part of my service.” He steered her in the direction of the large tent at the center of the park. “They’re smitten with shiny new things.”

She ran her hand down one hip. “Miss Martha does wonders with sequins and a short deadline.”

“You look fabulous.” He motioned to the open tent flaps. “Now, prepare yourself for a culinary treat that few can top.”

He grabbed her hand and walked behind the counters. They skirted past several deep fryers and walked to the far end of the tent. Rick pulled a basket out of one of the fryers and tipped it onto a cloth-covered plate. He held out a golden disk to her lips. “Open.”

Lizzie opened her mouth, and Rick placed the deep-fried pickle on her tongue. “Now, tell me that isn’t the best thing you ever ate.”

She chewed slowly. “It’s good.”

“Good? It’s fabulous.” Rick took one and popped it in his mouth. He closed his eyes and let the flavors play on his tongue.

She swallowed the pickle and looked around the tent. “Are you allowed to come back here and help yourself?”

“My question exactly.” His mom walked around the tables and poked a finger at Rick’s chest. “Who’s watching the diner?”

Rick rubbed his chest. “It’s closed until five for dinner, Ma. It’s fine.”

She shook her head, then glanced at Elizabeth. “Miss Brown County?”

“Not quite. Elizabeth Maier from—”