“It didn’t work the last time.” She shook her head and buried her face in her hands. “I begged your father to let you off the hook. We didn’t need that ridiculous show to survive.”
“Mrs. Allyn, the chances of Rick finding a wife are better this time. He’ll be the focus of our show. The one doing the choosing.”
His mom turned to her. “I can’t believe you’re torturing him again with this. You don’t know what it was like when he came back. The pain—”
“Ma.” She turned back to him. He’d do anything to ease the worry in her eyes. “I know you’re trying to protect me. But this time will be different.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He winked at Lizzie. “Because we’re doing it my way this time.”
Lizzie paled but gave a weak nod to Ma when she looked at her. “Rick wants more control this time. We still have to work out the details, but he wants to film here in town.”
Rick crossed his arms. “I more than want it. I’m going to have it or there will be no show.”
Lizzie accepted the knife from his mom. She started to chop the tomato. “I understand that you want to avoid what happened last time, but there are certain requirements, restrictions, that the show places not only on the contestants, but—”
He held up one hand. “Don’t try to produce me right now, Lizzie.” He turned back to his mom. “When are you going to stop worrying about me?”
She tried to give him a smile, but he could see what it cost her. “You’ll always be my baby.”
He hugged her and rubbed her back. “Someday you’ll have to trust me to make big-boy decisions.”
“What’s wrong?”
Rick turned to Dan, who had entered the kitchen, shrugged out of his suit coat and hung it on the back of a stool. “Mom’s worried about me doing the show again.”
Dan rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “So you’re really going to do it.”
“Yes, Dan. I think so.” He glanced at Lizzie, who watched his reaction closely. “I’m almost positive.” He turned back to his mom. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes, so that’s why we’re doing the show here. You’ll get to know all the women throughout the whole process. And give me advice.” He turned to face Dan. “When I ask for it.”
“Taping here means that we can showcase Allyn Pickles even more. Make a national audience aware of what we offer.” His mercenary brother’s eyes glazed over with the possibilities, and Rick sighed and patted his mom’s arm.
“I’ll set the table, and we can discuss this over dinner. Okay?”
She nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t really there. He walked to the cupboard and pulled out dishes and glasses, then disappeared into the dining room. It was mindless work, but that was what he needed to clear his mind.
“What happened after the show last time?”
Rick glanced up from a dinner plate and frowned at Lizzie, who stood in the doorway watching him. “You’re supposed to be making a salad.”
“Your mom took over, so I came in here to talk to you.”
He finished placing the plates on the table and turned to the sideboard drawer where his mom kept the cloth napkins. He folded four and walked around the table, placing them where they belonged next to each plate. “I don’t need to talk.”
“What happened that’s got your mom so scared for you to do this show?”
She stepped in front of him so that he had to look at her or push her out of his way. He chose to look at her. “It’s complicated.”
“That’s my response. Get your own.”
He sighed and moved around her to retrieve the silverware from the sideboard. He pulled out four forks, four spoons and four knives, then slammed the drawer shut and braced his hands on either side of him. “It wasn’t good.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I want you to do this show, but not if it’s going to hurt you.”
He looked down at her soft mouth. “You want your job. Dan wants his publicity. The town needs the money. Do I really have a choice?”
“You always have a choice, Rick.” She dropped her hand but kept her gaze on his. “Tell me what happened last time.”
He closed his eyes. “Some people run when trouble comes. Others throw themselves into work.” He opened his eyes and saw her watching him, a frown marring her brow. He might as well tell her the whole story, because his family would if he didn’t. “I retreated to my family’s cottage. Didn’t go out. Didn’t work. Cut myself off from everybody and everything. I couldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat. I became disoriented and got behind the wheel of my car to drive back home. I didn’t wake up until I hit a tree. After crushing my knee in the accident, I lost even my dream of playing with the pros.” He straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. “But I won’t let it happen again. And you’re going to help me make sure of that.”
CHAPTER FIVE
BY FEBRUARY, Lake Mildred was ready, poised on the brink of either publicity or infamy. Rick poured another round of coffee for his regulars and tried to maintain his good mood despite their incessant questions.
Would the production crew hire local people to help out as they had agreed in the contract? Rick knew they would and had signed papers to make it so. Lizzie had promised, and he knew he could trust her.
Would the show bring more tourists in? Probably, depending on the ratings. If it was popular, they’d want to come experience the place for themselves. If it ended as it had before, they’d want to come gawk at the man destined to be alone.
Would he find a wife? He prayed that he would. There was no other option on this. Either he met the woman meant to be his wife or he’d choose someone who was close enough to his list of expectations and hope that love would grow between them. He wearied of going to bed alone, waking up alone. He didn’t want to keep living with only his thoughts.
He replaced the coffee carafe in the machine and leaned on the counter. Ernesto, the cook, came out from the kitchen and joined him. “You ready to give this all up?”
Rick snorted and glanced around the dining room. “It’s only for a couple of months. Don’t get used to not having me here.”
“You’re the lifeblood here at the diner. In the community.” Ernesto put a hand on his shoulder. “What you’re doing for us now is...” His voice broke, and he shook his head.
“I’m not a savior, Ern.” Rick pushed himself off the counter and went to stand at the front window, watching as road crews filled in potholes that had cropped up after each thaw. There had been talk of repaving, but it wasn’t sound fiscal judgment in the winter.
But it was more than the potholes being filled. Rick had added fancy coffee drinks to his menu, and a bright copper espresso machine had arrived that he’d had to learn and teach his staff to use. Lizzie said it would draw the crew and contestants in like mosquitoes to a bug zapper. Outside the diner, the community task force had repainted benches, shored up docks and ordered more road salt for the snow that hadn’t stopped since New Year’s Day.
All so he could find a wife and Lizzie could keep her job.
Rick turned away from the window and walked back into the kitchen. Freshly baked cakes lined the stainless-steel counters, cooling and waiting for frosting.
The phone rang, but Rick let Ernesto answer it by the cash register. Probably another take-out order. Or one more reservation for the viewing party on