Then, the camera focused on me, busy waiting tables until Nelson/ Groucho appeared on the screen as I worked in the background. Nelson wagged his cigar between his fingers. “It appears our deputy has a dilemma.” He stared into the camera and raised his brows. “Who are you going to believe? Me or your own eyes?”
The cameras zoomed in on me getting an extra friendly hug from waiter Wade. That shot was followed by a close-up of Wade saying, “Sure, I’m sweet on Donna, mainly because we have history. We were childhood sweethearts, until …” His voice faded without completing his thought as the camera panned back, revealing a lovely Gianne holding a microphone close to her full, pouty lips. “Ohhhhh … poor baby. Why aren’t you two together now?”
Wade looked like a sheepish Matthew McConaughey. “It’s complicated. But I’m working on it.”
The room filled with hoots and shouts of “Go Wade!” while I slid down my chair. Wade leaned to whisper in my ear. “Sorry, Donna, Gianne promised me my comments were off the record.” But before I could scold him, the camera panned back to Gianne, who was saying, “But the word is, Wade isn’t the only eligible bachelor vying for the deputy’s affection.” I put my hands over my face and watched the screen through spread fingers as the camera caught David giving me a look of pure adoration.
I was stunned.
Before I could react, the theme song from
Hollywood Nightly
blared, and I felt David slide down his chair too. “They wouldn’t,” he said under his breath.
Hollywood Nightly
host Kendra Goodall replaced Gianne’s face. “This just in, rumor is Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor, the adopted son of Harmony Harris, American’s musical sweetheart of the fifties, is making an appearance as a waiter on
The Great Party Showdown
, the summer season’s top reality show.” The screen filled with a moving image of David wearing his black tux and pink bowtie waiting tables at our
Animal Crackers
birthday party.
“As a child, Harris became a media darling because he was the subject of much speculation as to his true parentage. It had been presumed he was the son of Harmony and one of her leading men, until last year when it was learned he was actually the biological son of nurse Vonnie Westbrook and her late husband, Joseph Ray Jewell, a medic killed in Vietnam.
“Though Harris is now living in Colorado, he’s still considered to be one of the most eligible bachelors in Hollywood, as he was the sole heir to Harmony’s estate. Even so, it’s rumored he traded Hollywood fame and fortune for his birth mother and an ambulance.” The screen showed David giving Vonnie a kiss on the cheek, then switched to David lifting an accident victim on a gurney into his awaiting ambulance as the voiceover continued, “And the love of his life.”
The camera pulled back from the accident scene to reveal me, dressed in my sheriff’s uniform, holding hands with the accident victim while David gave me a look of affection.
Wait! Wasn’t that Mr. Carpenter from this afternoon?
I shook my head.
Hollywood Nightly
hadn’t wasted any time getting a crew to town to film David’s business. How had they escaped my notice? Unless they’d gotten the footage from the
Denver News
team stationed here to report from the high country.
“The paparazzi are without conscience,” David muttered in response to my gasp.
Gianne’s face replaced Kendra’s. Gianne looked into the camera and batted her baby blue eyes. “Hey, David, if things don’t work out with the deputy …” She stretched out her pinkie and thumb and held it to her ear like a phone receiver before mouthing the words, “Call me.”
You could hear a few uncomfortable giggles from the crowd as a voice rang out, “Donna, who ya gonna pick?”
I sank lower in my seat. Was that Dwayne, the cook from Higher Grounds Café? I frowned.
No doubt
.
“Not you, Dwayne, that’s for certain,” a voice that sounded like reporter Clay Whitefield’s replied from somewhere nearby.
The crowd’s laughter faded as the screen suddenly portrayed several scenes from our surprise birthday party—including a closeup of Vonnie’s mother swatting our celebrity judge, Brant Richards, in the head with her purse. Next, as the crowd howled, we saw a close-up of Brant with cake smashed up his nose.
But just as our segment was closing, a close-up of me filled the screen. Gianne was asking, “So how badly do you want to win this thing?”
“Well, if we weren’t playing for a good cause, I’d turn to the camera and say—don’t vote for Team Potluck.”
I could hear Lisa Leann choke as the sound effect of crickets played through the speakers. But the moment quickly passed, and soon Brant was in front of a live studio audience, bashing our team. “In my professional opinion, Team Potluck of Hickville, Colorado, deserves zero stars, but as a courtesy—I’m
giving
them one.”
The next thing I knew, Gianne was explaining that the phone lines were now open for voting. Around me I could see members of the crowd pull out their cell phones as the dialing began in earnest.
While the crowd dialed, Lisa Leann took the mic to thank our friends while Wade and Pete slipped out to pick up the milk shakes. As the crowd began to dwindle, David and I quietly discussed his appearance on the show. “I just feel bad,” I said. “The show used your celebrity just to get more publicity.”
“I feel bad for you too.” David shrugged. “You were singled out because of me.”
I smirked. “Yeah, come to think of it.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. I should never have signed my real name on those contracts.”
I felt my brows arch as I leaned forward. “Stop. You didn’t sign a contract too, did you?”
“Yeah, Nelson asked me, and I have to admit, I signed it without reading the fine print.”
“Wait! That means if the team wins, you could get sent to New York with me and the girls.”
David nodded and folded his arms across his chest. “Well, maybe I’d like to go. Maybe I’d like to keep an eye on you.”
Wade, who had walked up behind us, suddenly cleared his throat. We turned to see him, decked in his jeans, denim jacket, and cowboy boots, holding a drink carrier full of shakes. “Well, Donna. I have a confession to make too.” Wade sat down with Pete, then handed us our frosty, hand-blended drinks. He took a deep breath. “I’ve signed one of Nelson’s contracts myself.”
“You didn’t! The girls and I never realized …”
“Don’t worry,” Wade said. “If the show asks me, I’d love to go to New York City.” He glanced at David. “In fact, I wouldn’t dream of letting you go without me.”
“But what about Pete?”
Pete answered for himself. “I’ll get to stay with Aunt Katherine. It’ll be cool to be with my little brothers and sister for a few weeks.”
Wade grinned. “See, no worries. If we get voted through, it’s all arranged.”
But I was worried. For starters, I couldn’t afford to take so much time off from work. Sure, I could handle a week or two, but according to the show’s schedule, I could get stuck in New York for up to four weeks with two lovesick men.
Both were important to me, but this was too much pressure. My own heart was just healing from the wounds of my past. I was beginning to understand God’s love for me in a way that had started to help me forgive myself. I didn’t think I was near ready to have my love life analyzed on national TV.
I sighed. What I’d really like to do was to dig a snow cave up on St. Mary’s Glacier and hide out for a couple of years with my Bible. Then, maybe, I’d be ready for this challenge.
My cell rang and I picked up, expecting to hear my dad chime in his opinion on the night’s program. “Hello?”
When I heard only silence, I checked the caller ID. It read “Private. ”
Probably a reporter with a bad connection, I mused. I clicked out of the call. Lisa Leann caught my eye. “Stay close, Donna, I think we’ll hear from New York in the next few minutes.”
An hour and a half later, the producer called with the news. Lisa Leann grabbed her phone on the first ring, then held the mic so we could hear her side of the conversation. “Kat? Is that you? How did the vote go?”
Seconds later Lisa Leann squealed, “We got the top vote? You’re kidding!”
Our friends applauded while I tried not to groan out loud. Lisa Leann continued. “Right. Yes, ma’am, Team Potluck is headed to New York City! I’m looking forward to getting your fax with the details… . Ah, what do you mean, there are a few surprises?”
Lisa Leann made the executive decision that she and one other potlucker should go to New York City by the week’s end. “We need to see the lay of the land,” she said to the group as we gathered in the boutique on Wednesday afternoon. “Has anyone spent significant time in the Big Apple?” She crooked the index and middle fingers of both hands for emphasis around “Big Apple.” She stood near the picture window overlooking Main Street and a glorious Summit View summer afternoon. Looking past her, I caught glimpses of passersby on the sidewalk. Even the summer tourists were enthralled by what was happening here; they stopped to gawk at the boutique, their expressions wide-eyed, their fingers pointing. Fortunately for us, Lisa Leann was unaware of the adulation from beyond the panes of glass behind her.
We all shook our heads. Lizzie raised her hand from her place next to Goldie on the settee. “Samuel and I honeymooned there.” Her fingers dropped to lightly touch a delicate gold necklace. “But that was a lot of years ago,” she concluded.
Goldie leaned over to look at the necklace. “That’s lovely,” she said. “Did you get it there?” When Lizzie nodded, Goldie straightened and looked at Lisa Leann. “I can’t go early,” she said. “I’ve already asked for time off, and Chris has agreed to bring Jenna in for a week while he looks for help from a temp service. But there’s no way I’m asking for more time.”
“Count me out,” Donna said. She and I sat side by side in matching velvet Queen Anne chairs with a rosewood marbletop table between us. “Dad is nearly frantic, what with having to rearrange the work schedule and handing overtime to some of the other deputies. The county is not too keen on paying overtime, let me tell you.”
I inched a finger up in the air. “I can vouch for that,” I said.
Lisa Leann attempted to open her mouth, but Vonnie spoke before she could get a word out. “Do you have someone in mind, Lisa Leann? To go with you?”
Lisa Leann’s shoulders relaxed. “I do, thank you very much, Vonnie.” She turned her baby blues toward me. “I think Evangeline and I should go. We’ll get familiar with the city, find out where the best suppliers are—”
“Me?” I said just as Donna piped in, “Can’t you just do that on the Internet?”
Lisa Leann shook her head. “Not adequately,” she said. “Ladies, this is too important to cut any corners. We’re doing this for the church, let’s not forget.”
“Me?” I repeated. “Why me? What did I do?”
“Yes, you, Evangeline Vesey, and stop acting like it’s a root canal. Besides, I’ve already spoken to Vernon about it, and he approves of your going. I told him all the reasons why you should be there with me, and he agreed wholeheartedly. Now, if everyone will hush and let me talk, I’ll explain a little more …”
“You said yes?” I said to my husband later that evening. “Why would you do that without asking me first?” We were in our bedroom, my suitcase spread wide on top of the bed. I was already packing—me on one side of the bed, Vernon watching from the other—though our flight was not until Friday. Very early Friday morning, to be exact. Lisa Leann had made the reservations before I’d left the boutique, choosing a nonstop flight that would get us there around 2:30 in the afternoon, what with the time difference.
“I could see her point in your going with her.” Vernon shrugged then crossed his arms across his chest.
“Which was?”
“Well, she certainly can’t go alone, for one. And, as she put it, you are practical and level-headed and can help find some of the best supply deals in the city, which the show will judge you on, in part.”
I turned from the bed toward my dresser and opened my unmentionables drawer. I pulled several pair of precisely folded panties from the stack next to the neatly folded bras, then placed them in the suitcase. “I wonder if any of the other winning teams will think like Lisa Leann and arrive early too.” My shoulders sank. “But what gets me is this will be six days more away from you.”
Vernon chuckled as I gave him my best pout. He came from around the bed then and wrapped me in his arms and kissed my cheek. “Ah, Evie-girl,” he said. “Don’t you worry. I’ll fly out for next week’s show.”
I looked at him sideways. “You will? You promise?”
“Did you really think I’d miss my best girl’s New York City television debut? Fred and Jack and I have already talked about it.”
“What about Samuel?” I turned slightly to look at him face to face.
“Samuel too.” Then Vernon shook his head. “Not sure about Henry Lambert, though.”
I raised a brow. “Something is not altogether right in the Lambert household, I’m afraid.”
“Something you don’t know about?” Vernon asked me.
Know?
“Is there something I
should
know about?” I mean, other than Lisa Leann’s old affair …
But Vernon looked stupefied. “What?”
I frowned. “Vernon Vesey, do you know something within the Lambert household I don’t know about?”
Vernon laughed. “That’ll be the day. What I was intimating—and apparently not too well—was that if you don’t know, then no one but Lisa Leann and Henry know.” He waved a hand at me. “Never mind; just go back to your packing. Your luggage is blocking my side of the bed.”
Friday, at a little after 4:30 in the morning, Lisa Leann and I met at the Delta ticket counter at Denver’s international airport. Lisa Leann had already printed our boarding passes online but managed to get them exchanged for front row seats she said would give us more room to stretch our legs during the long flight. We rolled our luggage to the friendly folks at the TSA baggage check, then proceeded toward the train. Minutes later we were walking down Concourse C, each with a cup of Starbuck’s coffee, and toward Gate 48, which was, naturally, the very last gate on the right. While my shoulder nearly broke under the weight of my purse (filled with a couple of books to read, a pad of paper for jotting down notes as thoughts and ideas came to mind, and the new digital camera Vernon gave me the night before), Lisa Leann pulled a spiffy pink and white polka dot carry-on case behind her. It was one third of a matching set, the rest having been checked into baggage. I glanced down at it several times before stating the obvious. “Lisa Leann, that suitcase is ‘you’ to a T.”