Free Her Red-Carpet Romance by Marie Ferrarella

barbershop that doubled as a doctor’s office, and an emporium that was twice as wide as the other buildings because it contained the only so-called shopping area for the citizens of and beyond the town.
    There was another rather dilapidated tiny hole-in-the-wall building, which, she saw as they drew closer, was actually the sheriff’s office. One street away, dominating almost that entire block and two stories tall, was the town’s one and only saloon. Big and gaudy, the Birdcage Saloon seemed primed for business even at this early an hour in the morning.
    â€œNo.” Lukkas answered her question. “I found the town like this. It’s perfect, isn’t it?” She didn’t know if he was still talking to her or sharing something with someone in his mind. “Pull over here, Juan,” he instructed, pointing.
    â€œHere” was in front of the saloon. Getting out, he waited for her to slide out of the car after him.
    When she did, Yohanna looked around in complete wonder, unable to make up her mind whether or not the producer was putting her on. While the town looked weathered, something about it didn’t strike her as genuine.
    She couldn’t put her finger on it, but this old-fashioned Western town didn’t appear 100 percent authentic to her, either.
    â€œYou didn’t help it along to arrive at this Old West town look?” she asked.
    She’d initially looked too innocent to be this sharp, he thought. He didn’t know whether to be proud that she could be this forthright, or leery of dealing with her on general principle.
    In either case, she was still waiting for an answer, he reminded himself.
    â€œI didn’t, but Jeff Richards did.”
    The name meant nothing to her. Yohanna shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t—”
    He hadn’t expected her to know who he was referring to unless she’d read the article in that popular magazine a few months ago.
    â€œRichards is the one who bought this entire town by paying off its back taxes. It was his idea to turn it into a tourist attraction,” he told her. “He was trying to make it into a Tombstone look-alike.” He went on to explain. “We’re renting it for the duration of filming the exterior shots—and a couple of the interior ones, as well. After that, we fold up our tents—or get into our trailers and drive as it were—and he gets his town back with the added benefit of being able to advertise that
The Sheriff From Nowhere
was filmed here on location.”
    He smiled to himself about the predictability of the situation. “You’d be surprised what a little publicity like that does to attract people. By the way, while we’re renting this town, it’ll be your job to make sure Richards gets his checks on a regular basis. You’ll also make me aware of any snags, misunderstandings and problems that might crop up due to our arrangement.”
    â€œProblems?” she questioned.
    â€œLike fees suddenly being raised or doubled. You’d be surprised what some people try to pull,” Lukkas told her.
    â€œGot it,” she said, making a notation in her notebook.
    That she had written down what he’d said caught his attention. “Why aren’t you making an entry on your smartphone calendar?”
    â€œI will,” she told him, wondering if he thought she was archaic in her methods. “But I have to admit that I like the feel of putting a pen to paper when I make my notes. This way, I’ll wind up with two sets of records about the things I’m supposed to take charge of and keep after.”
    Yohanna had a feeling this was going to be a lot to contend with, especially since she knew the man’s actual handwriting looked to be about preschool level quality. It was difficult to make heads or tails out of some of it.
    She would have preferred if he had dictated and recorded his notes into his cell phone. But