Chapter 1
Easton cinched up his laces with double knots on each winterized mountain boot.
“A bet’s a bet, Easton,” his sister said through the phone line, “so you better man up or I’ll…”
Easton clenched his jaw tight. He could picture her now, standing beside her kitchen sink with a fist poised on one hip, scrambling for a word strong enough to scare him into following through.
“I won’t name the baby after you,” she finally threatened.
Easton snatched the phone off the bed, keeping it on speaker mode as he headed toward his closet. “I never asked you to name him after me, Chantelle,” he said. “You wanted to do that all on your own.”
“Well, I won’t want to if you don’t follow through. Can’t name him after someone who doesn’t keep his word.”
Great, the guilt card. He only wished he couldn’t feel the hot sting of it in his gut. It would make him a liar if he backed out now. Unless he could get his sister to see how ludicrous the idea was in the first place. It was easy enough for him to see—five bachelorettes at a resort with twenty-five bachelors. Talk about a recipe for heartache and disaster. Not to mention humiliation—it would be broadcast for all of America to see, for crying out loud.
“Why can’t you just…get that this whole dating show thing is the opposite of anything I would ever want to do?”
“Why?” she snapped. “Because you’re scared of being on TV?”
“I’m not scared to be on TV, I’m strongly opposed to it, but that’s not even the biggest factor. I don’t trust crappy manufactured dating setups. I don’t, I’m sorry.”
“So,” Chantelle said. “You should have thought of that before you made that deal with me. I worked my butt off to raise more money than you did and I’m thirty weeks pregnant. Do you have any idea how much harder it was for me than it was for you?”
Wow, she was really playing this one up, wasn’t she? His mind flashed back to the months he’d spent raising money for their wilderness survival camp—a camp he and his sister founded and operated together. The facility was designed to help struggling teens and young adults, providing top-of-the-line care and counseling while teaching outdoor survival techniques. Something that took a lot of money to run. The annual fundraiser allowed them to reduce the price for certain candidates and even offer the occasional free help for those who qualified. And God bless the few kids who did qualify, they needed the help all the more.
Still, after all that he’d done—and he’d done a lot—Easton was shocked to find his sister had outdone him by a whopping sixty thousand dollars.
“I’m sure it was…very difficult,” he allowed. “But come on, how about I just agree to…I don’t know, activate the profile you made for me on that horrible dating network.”
“It’s not horrible, and I can’t believe you’re even talking about skipping out on this. The network is sending someone to the center for your final interview in just a few days. Which means whoever’s interviewing you already has plane tickets and probably a million other things planned around it. So suck it up, be a good sport, and do the freaking interview. Heck, maybe they won’t even pick you and you’ve thrown this big tantrum for nothing.”
Easton rolled his eyes as he flung open his closet door. He grabbed a stack of fresh tees and a few wool sweaters before tossing them toward his duffle bag on the bed. He kept one of the sweaters and shrugged into it, switching the phone from his right hand to his left as he pushed his arms through the sleeves.
He straightened up as an idea came to mind. The interview could be his ticket out. At this point, he was only a finalist. If he botched the interview, he’d be eliminated and Chantelle couldn’t be mad at him.
“You’re right,” he said, hurrying over to his dresser and resting the phone there. He grabbed an extra pair of jeans, a few pair of boxer briefs, and a pair of thermals too. “I can’t back out this late. It’d be rude.” He snatched up some wool socks next and spun to pack them into his bag.
“Exactly,” Chantelle said. “Standing up the network, forcing people to scramble, that’s unacceptable. We’re better than that.”
She was right, but for a reason he couldn’t explain, the comment struck a nerve. Perhaps it was because Easton had considered leaving Channel 13 high and dry. He didn’t like the slight jab at his character, as merited as it might be.
His other line gave out a buzz. A quick peek at the screen showed just who was calling. “Speak of the devils,” he mumbled. “I’ve got a call coming in. Just a minute.” He tapped the screen to take the call. “Hello?”
“This is Ivy Ingles from Channel 13 calling to confirm our twelve o’clock appointment for Monday afternoon at the Front Range Survival Center.” She sounded young. And while her voice was pleasant, the polished approach made him bristle.
“I’ll be there,” he assured. “How many will be in your crew?”
“Oh, no fancy production crew this round,” she said. “Just me. The interview is to help the production team determine who will go on to the show. It won’t be aired or anything.”
Easton felt himself relax at the news. “No kidding?”
“No kidding. So you’ll be there?”
“Yeah. In fact,” he added, spinning to sit on the bed. “I’m heading out there right now.”
“Wait—this soon? The place is covered in snow, isn’t it?”
He grinned. “So?”
“So, it’s an outdoor campsite from what I understand.”
“We’ve got yurts.”
“Yurts?”
“Picture a tall, circular hut with a cone roof,” he explained.
Some paper rattling ensued. “Oh, yes. You’re the one we’re interviewing in front of one of the outdoor structures, it says. I guess that’s what they mean. Perfect.”
“I’m the one?” he echoed. “How many interviews are you doing? Don’t tell me you’re covering all fifty of the finalists.”
She chuckled, but it sounded more like a choke. “Heavens no. Most of the interviews were done earlier in the month. I’ve got just five this time. I’m headed to Arizona to get my second interview.”
“From LA?” he asked, not sure why he was curious.
“From Vegas, actually. A pro gambler,” she said.
“You don’t say? People do that for a living?”
“Apparently.”
He smiled, then remembered that he was supposed to blow the interview, not make friends with the chick interviewing him before they even had the chance to meet.
“You know,” he said, lowering his tone, “we’re supposed to see a real blizzard in the next few days. You might have to camp out in one of the yurts with me over the holiday. But don’t worry, if that happens, I’m sure I can keep you warm somehow.”
If Chantelle was listening to the call, she’d know he was trying to blow it. Easton never spoke to women in such a way.
The woman on the other end of the line cleared her throat. “Save it for the contestants, sparky,” she quipped. “I already have a plane ticket to fly home after our interview and I intend to make it there in time for Christmas Eve no matter the weather.”