Mummy and the Maverick. Meg Maxwell

Anne called, waving her over. “I’ve been saving you this seat for twenty minutes and have gotten a bunch of mean looks by folks who want it. One guy even offered to buy me the sirloin special if I let him have the chair.”

      “Was he cute?” Abby asked as they approached. “Blond or dark haired? Did he have dimples like Lyle in 2LOVEU?”

      Marissa smiled and shook her head, then gratefully sat down next to Anne at the table for two that was wedged between two others. Her daughter’s favorite subject was 2LOVEU, a boy band she listened to on repeat for hours. Marissa had heard the songs so often they’d grown on her, too.

      “He was cute,” Anne told Abby. “But around fifty. And no dimples, sorry.”

      “Abby, you can sit on my lap, like old times,” Marissa said, squeezing her daughter’s hand.

      Abby’s eyes widened. “Mom, I’m nine,” she whispered in horror.

      “No worries,” Anne said, smiling at Abby. “Janie’s over there, sitting on the floor in the kids section. She saved you a spot, too.”

      “Bye!” Abby squealed and ran over to the area, where Marissa could see around thirty or so children sitting on foam mats, talking excitedly and munching on the free popcorn the Ace staff was handing out in brown paper bags. There was a good view of the two giant screen televisions on stands on either side of the bar. No matter where you sat in the room, you could see them.

      “You’re the best, Anne,” Marissa said, scooting a bit closer to her friend to avoid being elbowed in the ribs by the woman at the next table. A divorced mom with a full-time job as a receptionist at the veterinarian’s office, Anne had her hands full but her act completely together. Something Marissa was working on. “I meant to get here twenty minutes ago, but Kiera couldn’t find her favorite doll and had the tantrum of all tantrums just as I was leaving. I thought tantrums were supposed to stop by five years old.”

      Anne smiled, pushing a swath of her wavy blond hair behind her ear. “One of my neighbors threw a tantrum this morning over someone’s dog walking on the edge of her property. I don’t think there’s an age limit, sorry.”

      Marissa laughed. “And then Kaylee managed to smush a green bean in her ear at dinner, so I had to deal with a three-year-old sobbing that this means she’s going to turn into a green bean.”

      Anne squeezed Marissa’s hand. “Oh, to be three years old.”

      But finally, Marissa had made it. Her mom and dad, doting grandparents, had shooed her out the door, assuring her they’d help Kiera find the doll, and calm down Kaylee. But even when Marissa needed a night out so badly she could scream, she never felt comfortable leaving her parents to deal with sobs and tantrums. That was Marissa’s job. She was the parent. She was the only parent.

      She may have moved back in with her folks for the sake of the girls—and yes, her sake, too. But she wasn’t about to take advantage of her parents’ kindness and generosity. They’d been there for her two years ago when her husband, Mike, had died. They’d been there when she was struggling to make ends meet. They’d been there when she’d surrendered to the notion that she needed help, and had accepted their offer to move home. But her three daughters were her responsibility, and no matter how tired she was from her job at the sheriff’s office, or comforting a sick child at three in the morning, Marissa was their mom. Despite that, though, living under her parents’ roof sometimes made her feel like one of the kids instead of a twenty-seven-year-old widow, a grown-up.

      A cheer went up in the room and Marissa glanced at the TV. It was showing a teaser promo for The Great Roundup, which was about to start in a few minutes, and there was Brenna O’Reilly, hometown girl, giving an interview, reality-TV-style, to someone off camera about how she never thought she could do this, but here she was, a hairstylist from Rust Creek Falls, participating in the competition with her hot fiancé, and she was going to give it her all.

      You go, Brenna. Marissa knew all about finding herself in uncharted territory. You gave it your all or... There was actually no alternative.

      “Brenna O’Reilly and Travis Dalton?” Anne said. She smiled and shook her head. “The cowboy no one ever thought would settle down and the flirty hairstylist always up for adventure—engaged. Crazy.”

      Marissa had gone to high school with Brenna, who’d been a year behind her. They’d been only acquaintances, but she had to agree. Plus, hadn’t Brenna always talked about getting out of Rust Creek Falls? Granted, she had for the TV show, which had filmed for what must have been six very exciting weeks at the High Lonesome Guest Ranch. Rumor had it that Brenna and Travis would be coming to the viewing party, even though they’d been invited to watch the first episode with the producers and some of the other competitors.

      “Chemistry works in mysterious ways,” Jamie Stockton said, his arm around his wife, Fallon O’Reilly Stockton—Brenna’s sister.

      It sure was nice to see Jamie Stockton out for a change. Before he’d fallen in love with Fallon, the widowed rancher had been raising his baby triplets on his own. If anyone needed a night out, it was Jamie.

      Fallon smiled and nodded, raising her beer mug. She had visited her sister on location during the filming of the show last month. But Fallon wouldn’t say a word about what had gone on behind the scenes. Apparently, she’d had to sign confidentiality papers not to ruin any surprises.

      What the whole town did know was that originally, Travis, the ultimate showman cowboy, was the only Rust Creek Falls contestant on the show, which was about cowboys—men and women—competing in Western-style challenges. But when the producers were in town last month to film some hometown segments and saw what amazing chemistry Travis had with his girlfriend, Brenna—and how camera ready Brenna was—they’d invited them both on the show. No one had even suspected Travis and Brenna were dating, but the next thing everyone knew, Travis had proposed and they were competing as The Great Roundup’s “engaged couple.” If Marissa could binge watch the whole season in one night, she would. But she, like everyone else, would have to wait for every episode over the next several months.

      “Now, that sounds like Travis,” said Nate Crawford, who owned the general store and a hotel in town, “Asking a woman to marry him for good ratings.” He grinned and shook his head.

      Anne laughed. “I saw them a bunch of times together last month during the filming here. When the cameras weren’t rolling. No way were they faking anything for ratings. Those two are in love for sure.”

      “Still, I can’t imagine proposing to a woman on a whim,” Zach Dalton said, adjusting his bolo tie as though it were squeezing his neck. Marissa glanced at Zach at the table on their other side. The handsome newcomer to town and his four brothers were cousins of Travis’s.

      “Well, no matter what happened behind the scenes,” Anne said, “everything sure worked out for Travis and Brenna. They’re engaged.”

      Marissa sighed. It sure had. All the romance in the air had left her a little wistful. Last month, her daughter Abby had talked nonstop about how “dreamy” their new town “star” Travis was, almost as dreamy as Lyle, the lead singer of 2LOVEU. And Marissa had always admired Brenna’s free-spirited ways, especially back in high school. Brenna had had lots of dates, while Marissa had dated only one boy throughout high school and always expected they would get married. When she got pregnant after prom night, she’d married Michael Fuller at age eighteen. But Brenna had sown her wild oats and found love when she was ready for it. Good for you, Brenna.

      Just as Marissa was about to try to flag one of the very busy waitresses, who were all racing around with platters of steaks and appetizers and ribs and trays of beer and soda, Abby ran over.

      “Mom!” her daughter said, her brown eyes all dreamy. “That’s the one you should pick. For sure.”

      Pick? Huh? Marissa looked in the direction her daughter was staring.

      Ah. Three very good-looking men—two the Jones brothers and a third, who looked just like them—stood