Running On Empty

By Meg Benjamin

Ronnie Ventura has every reason to distrust Fairstein Productions: she’s had run-ins with their shows before. But Fairstein’s newest reality show offers Ronnie a chance to redeem herself from looking like a blonde bimbo. All she has to do is win a modified triathlon. Simple, right?

Except this is Fairstein, and nothing is ever simple with them. Ronnie’s boss at the Blarney Stone bar and café, owner Ted Saltzman, is a lot less convinced that another Fairstein show is just what Ronnie needs, particularly when he’s head over heels about Ronnie himself. But she’s determined, and he’s a man in love.

Ted becomes her running coach, which fans their budding romance to a fever. But can Ronnie’s newfound confidence stand up to the usual Fairstein plots? And can Ted find a way to keep his true love in Salt Box if Hollywood tries to steal her away again?

Each book in the Salt Box trilogy is a standalone story that can be enjoyed in any order.
Book #1: Finding Mr. Right Now
Book #2: Love in the Morning
Book #3: Running on Empty

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Aug 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781640633292

Meg Benjamin

Meg Benjamin is an award-winning author of romance. Along with her Luscious Delights series for Wild Rose Press, she’s also the author of the Konigsburg, Salt Box and Brewing Love series. Along with these contemporary romances, Meg is also the author of the paranormal Ramos Family trilogy and the Folk series. Meg’s books have won numerous awards, including an EPIC Award, a Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Holt Medallion from Virginia Romance Writers, the Beanpot Award from the New England Romance Writers, and the Award of Excellence from Colorado Romance Writers. Meg’s Web site is http://www.MegBenjamin.com. You can follow her on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/meg.benjamin1), Pinterest (http://pinterest.com/megbenjamin/), Twitter (http://twitter.com/megbenj1) and Instagram (meg_benjamin). Meg loves to hear from readers—contact her at [e-mail].

Book preview

To the citizens of and visitors to Steamboat Springs, Colora-do, one of my favorite towns and the inspiration for Salt Box. And, as always, to my family: Ben, Josh, Molly and the twinjas. And my hubs, Bill, who’s been there to hold my hand through all the sturm und drang of my first indie publication.

Chapter One

Ronnie Ventura was running late. Literally. She paused long enough to exchange her snowboarding boots for running shoes, tossing her cap and mittens into the backseat. Her snowboard would be safe in the back of the car. It was still a little too cold to leave her jacket in there, but she could stash it behind the bar. Ted wouldn’t mind.

Thinking of Ted made her check her lipstick in the rearview mirror, although he probably wouldn’t notice. She noticed, though. Not as much as she used to notice maybe, but still. She grabbed the tube that she kept in her glove compartment, applying a quick coat and giving her hair a toss. It was a little beaten down from her hat, but it would fluff out during the evening. Probably.

Music leaked from the front door of the Blarney Stone as she trotted up the walk. Not quite five and somebody was already feeding quarters into the jukebox. At this time of year, most of the out-of-town skiers had gone home, ready for spring. But there were still a few hardcore types around, plus all the people who lived in Salt Box, Colorado, and hit the local clubs after the visitors left.

A blast of REO Speedwagon almost pushed her back outside. Someone had boosted the jukebox volume again. Ted would have to fix it.

She dodged around a line of customers standing near the bar, earning a few glares from people who didn’t know her. Those would be the lingering tourists. By now, everybody who lived in Salt Box knew who she was, and a lot of them were her friends.

Ted was at the tap, pouring pints of beer, when she finally reached the bar. His dark hair was slightly mussed, which probably meant the bar had already been busy. She caught herself checking out the line of muscle along his arm as he lifted the beers to the customers, then looked away.

He’s your boss, Veronica.

True, but he had really nice arms. Among other things.

He raised an eyebrow when she pulled off her coat and tucked it into a space beside the extra glasses.

Sorry, sorry, she muttered. I lost track of the time. The snow was really good today. I’ll stay until closing to make up for it.

Yep. Ted gave her a slightly dry smile. Given that he owned the Blarney Stone, he’d be within his rights to dock her salary for being late. But he wouldn’t. He was a nice guy, and nice guys didn’t dock your pay or give you grief if you spent too much time on the slopes. She’d learned that over the past year as she’d juggled waiting tables and taking online classes and learning to snowboard, all more or less simultaneously.

Of course, even Ted’s patience had limits. She’d come in early tomorrow. Technically, she wasn’t due until four thirty. If she got there at four, after she did her volunteer stint at the youth center, it should all even out.

She grabbed a pad and pencil, along with her tray, and headed for her station.

Eileen, the waitress at the station next to hers, scowled. About time you got here. I’ve been covering for you.

Thanks. Ronnie gave her a warm smile. Eileen was usually grumpy, but Ronnie could jolly her out of it. Which ones haven’t ordered yet?

Eileen pointed to a couple of tables at the side. Those. One of them just got here. The other one said they’d wait for you.

Ronnie did a quick survey. The newcomers looked like skiers—four of them, all male. Probably beer drinkers. She glanced at the other table, the one that had chosen to wait for her, and sighed. Nona Monteith. And Dick Sonnenfeld.

Nona was a sweetheart. Dick wasn’t. They were both probably in their sixties, although Nona could pass for fifty with her black hair and her laughing brown eyes. Dick’s white beard and slightly scraggly gray hair actually made him look older.

Ronnie headed for the newcomers first, giving them a smile. It wasn’t her best smile, but judging from their reaction it was good enough. A few minutes later she had orders for craft beers and a salty dog, whatever that was.

She stepped to Nona and Dick’s table, pushing her lips into another sunny smile. Hi y’all. What can I get for you tonight?

Took you long enough, Dick said, inevitably.

Oh, put a sock in it. Nona gave him an affectionate head shake. Dick subsided into grumbles. Just bring us a pitcher of whatever’s on tap, honey. Other people are coming.

Right. Ronnie gave her a more sincere smile, then turned toward the bar.

Five minutes later she was headed back, carrying the pitcher and a couple of empty glasses. She hadn’t been able to heft that much weight when she’d started at the Blarney Stone, but over the year she’d managed to build up enough strength in her biceps to handle a couple of pitchers at once.

It wasn’t like she had much choice. Nobody had time to carry things for her, which was a good thing. Before the Blarney Stone, she’d had a lifetime of people carrying her extra baggage. Now she carried her own. She liked it.

A few more customers had arrived at the table while she’d been gone—Clark Denham and his significant other, Lizzy Apodaca. Clark owned the Praeger House, the town’s best hotel, even if he did look a little like a mountain man with his plaid shirt and down vest. Lizzy was the chef who ran his breakfast buffet, but right now she had on a sweatshirt and jeans rather than her chef’s coat.

Ronnie’s grin was genuine as she lowered the pitcher to the table. Hey, y’all. You want glasses?

Yes, please. Lizzy grinned back. You look like you got some sun. Were you up on the slopes?

Ronnie nodded. I had a little free time this afternoon. Most of the tourists have gone home. No lift lines.

They’ll be back for closing day, Dick said darkly. And then we’ll get a new infestation after Memorial Day.

Clark smirked. For which some of us are profoundly grateful, Sonnenfeld. A lot of us make our living from those tourists.

Lizzy ignored them. Is the kitchen open tonight? I feel like a burger.

Let me check. I’ll pick up the orders for the other table, and then I’ll be right back. Ronnie grabbed her tray and headed toward the front of the room.

She leaned over the bar so she could be heard above Mumford and Sons. Is the kitchen running tonight?

Ted nodded. Merrilee’s there.

Okay, thanks. Ronnie headed back toward her tables with a tray full of craft beers and glasses, smiling again.

Smiles, she’d discovered, produced tips. Fortunately, she’d spent much of her life developing her smile repertoire.

A couple of hours later, she’d served dinner to Lizzy and several other customers, supplied beers and wine and the occasional margarita to several more, and was well past her break time.

But she wouldn’t take one. She’d been thirty minutes late coming in, and she still had full tables. She liked the Blarney Stone when it was going full tilt like tonight, with the jukebox blaring and people dancing and general chaos.

The Blarney Stone had been her refuge when she’d limped into Salt Box, bearing the invisible bruises of being the star of Finding Mr. Right. What she’d wanted more than anything was a quick dose of sanity, and Ted Saltzman had provided that. The few people who still recognized her from her stint in reality TV probably thought she’d come down in the world, but Ronnie knew better.

She headed for a group of eight snowboarders who’d just grabbed a table in the corner. They’d probably go for two pitchers at the very least. And maybe a couple of plates of nachos. And some generous tips if she kept them happy for the rest of the evening. That was worth a few smiles.

…

Ted took time for a couple of sips of water before mixing the next round of drinks. He could see Ronnie, her golden hair gleaming in the dim light like a beacon.

You’re an idiot.

Quite true. Anybody who thought that Ronnie Ventura, veteran of reality television’s search for the next gullible bachelorette, could serve as any kind of beacon needed a lot of therapy.

Or a girlfriend.

A real girlfriend, of course, not this fantasy he was lusting after, along with most of the other men in the bar. Ronnie Ventura, with her glorious golden hair and her glorious, guileless smile, didn’t represent anything like a realistic goal. Not for him, anyway.

Still, she’d come a long way since she’d wandered into his bar on her impossibly high heels and asked for a job. He’d thought she was the gorgeous, slightly dim airhead she’d seemed to be on TV, but he’d hired her anyway. Which had turned out to be a great decision. For both of them.

Ted?

He wheeled around quickly. Eileen, one of the other barmaids, was studying him. Eileen was a lot closer to reality—in fact, she was reality personified. Of course, she was also at least a decade older than Ronnie with a couple of teenage kids and a deadbeat ex-husband.

Sorry. What did you say?

I need two Fat Tires, a margarita, and an appletini. The twist of her lips on the last word told him just what she thought of fancy bar drinks.

Coming up.

A few minutes later he watched the customers again. Business was slowing a little as the evening wore on. Maggie, his other bartender, could probably handle the orders on her own for a while. Plus she could use the tips.

He stepped out from behind the bar and headed toward the table where Dick Sonnenfeld and Nona Monteith were holding court. Dick’s assistant, Monica McKellar, had joined them, although Clark and Lizzy had headed back to the hotel a few minutes earlier. Ted pulled an empty chair from an adjoining table and settled at the front.

Dick’s lips slid into his standard smirk. Ah, Saltzman. Through for the night? Business that bad?

Taking a break. He’d known Dick long enough to ignore his sarcasm, which was usually the best way to deal with him.

Monica glanced around the room. Still a lot of people here. I thought everybody went home after the snow started melting in April.

The snow may melt, but we’ll still get two or three big storms. People just get tired of winter after a while. They want to head to Florida or something. Nona poured herself another glass of beer from the pitcher.

Idiots, Dick growled. Anybody who’d take oil-clogged beaches and hurricanes over a little snow doesn’t deserve these mountains.

Everyone at the table followed Ted’s example and ignored him. So how was your first winter? Ted asked Monica.

Overall, it was fine. It took me a little while to get used to the snow, but by March I was driving like a champ.

You were driving like a flatlander, Dick cut in, but you’ll improve.

Monica shook her head. I made three trips to Denver in February, two of them in snowstorms. I’m a champ.

You are, honey. And if you can put up with Dick as a boss, you deserve a halo and a pair of wings. Nona grinned.

Ronnie leaned across the table, picking up their empty pitcher. Y’all want another one of these?

Ted managed not to stare at her. Normally, he was aware of her long before she got that close. His Ronnie radar must be off.

I think that’s it for me tonight. I need to get home. Monica gathered her purse and fumbled for her coat.

Across from her, Nona nodded. Me too. Looks like the crowd’s thinning out anyway.

Dick drained his glass. Early night, Saltzman. Sorry to deprive you of customers. He dropped a couple of bills on the table for Ronnie.

You’ll be back. Ted took another quick swallow of water, hoping that Ronnie would go on to her other customers.

She didn’t. Instead, she leaned farther over the table, gathering up used glasses.

He should have been happy about that, of course. She was being a conscientious waitress, taking care of his business. And he was happy about it, in a kind of abstract way. Of course, at the moment he was more aware of her breasts a few inches from his nose.

You could move back to give her more room.

He could. He should. Unfortunately, he seemed unable to make himself do it.

Quiet night. He stared resolutely at the ceiling.

Ronnie straightened, her hands full of glasses. I guess so. Still seems pretty busy, though. Her lips moved into one of her miraculous grins. Not that I’m complaining. More customers are good for everybody, right? She turned and headed for the bar, while he pushed himself slowly to his feet.

Ronnie’s smiles. He’d become something of an expert on Ronnie’s smiles over the year she’d waited tables at the Blarney Stone. Some of them were simply for effect, like the ones she used with the customers. They weren’t exactly phony, but they weren’t entirely genuine either.

But then you had the real Ronnie smiles, the ones that could render a grown man speechless. Even Dick had been known to stutter when Ronnie directed one of those his way. Ted had been working on his smile immunity. He figured it wouldn’t be a great idea to look like he’d been poleaxed by one of his employees whenever she grinned at him. He’d gotten to the point where he could manage to keep talking when she smiled, but he wasn’t sure he made a lot of sense.

He sighed. He was far from an adolescent. It was ridiculous to have a crush at his age. He should either ask her out or forget about her.

Of course, forgetting about her was a nonstarter as long as she was working in his bar. On the other hand, dating her was also a nonstarter as long as she was working in his bar. He didn’t hit on employees.

Although come to think of it, Denham hadn’t done badly with Lizzy. And she’d been his employee when they’d started going together. Hell, she was still his employee and they were living together. She’d probably still be his employee when they got married, assuming, as everybody in Salt Box did, that marriage was where they were heading.

So maybe dating an employee wasn’t such a lousy idea after all. He didn’t think any of the other waitresses would mind, given that none of them had ever seemed interested in dating him themselves. Of course, neither did Ronnie, so far as he could tell.

He carried some of the used glasses to a tray outside the kitchen for Merrilee’s assistant to load into the dishwasher. He couldn’t let this obsession with his love life interfere with running the Blarney Stone. After all, he was first, last, and always a businessman. A very successful one.

Ronnie appeared at the end of the bar, carrying a couple of empty pitchers. Any more room on that tray?

Sure. He reached for the pitchers, his hands brushing against hers as he did.

Something like an electric charge traveled upward from his hands to his shoulders. He smelled apples and spice, maybe her shampoo. The warmth of her skin stayed on his hands for a moment, a faint, lingering glow.

Holy Mother of God, you are a nutcase.

He was. No question. Ronnie Ventura had entered his life, and his sanity had fled for parts unknown.

Sighing again, he carried the pitchers to the kitchen.

…

The Blarney Stone closed down at midnight when most customers had headed home. Ronnie swabbed tables while Eileen swept and Keisha bussed the last few dishes back to the kitchen.

Ronnie didn’t really mind helping to close. Ted sometimes sent them home early, even if they still had some late-night carousers hanging around.

Eileen headed out the door as soon as she’d emptied her dustpan, and Keisha followed her a few minutes later. Which left Ronnie alone with Ted.

She tried not to watch him as he wiped down the bar. Something about his forearms started a funny feeling in her abdomen. Maybe it was the dusting of black hair that caught the light as he moved.

She shook her head. She was so not going to think about Ted Saltzman’s forearms. I guess I’ll head home.

He glanced up. Hang on a second, I’ll walk you to your car.

That’s okay. You don’t have to.

No problem. He walked around the bar and headed for the front door, twisting the lock to let her out.

Ronnie gave him a quick smile as she moved through the door.

He stepped out onto the porch and then into the parking lot with her, standing at the side as she walked to her car. She felt his gaze as she opened her door and looked back again. Good night. See you tomorrow. He nodded, turning back inside as she slid behind the wheel and started the car.

Ronnie had had her first kiss at ten, her first boyfriend at eleven. She’d been a prom queen, a cheerleader, and sweetheart of her sorority. She knew when a man was interested. Or anyway, she’d always thought she did.

Now she wasn’t sure. Part of the time, she could swear that Ted Saltzman wanted her. She’d seen the way his dark gaze followed her around the bar, felt the slight tingle of warmth when his hand brushed hers in passing. She knew what it meant when a man’s eyes got that particular gleam.

But no matter how bright that gleam was, he never did anything about it. And she’d decided a few weeks ago that she really wanted him to.

Ted Saltzman was a hot guy. Plus he was a nice guy. She liked him. She more than liked him, if she was being honest. If he asked her out, she’d accept in a heartbeat, and she couldn’t for the life of her understand why he hadn’t.

You could always ask him.

Her pulse sped up slightly. She knew she could ask him out, but every time she considered doing it, her nerves took over. She’d never asked a man out before. She’d never had to ask a man out before. What if she was wrong? What if he wasn’t interested? What if he said no?

What if he said yes?

That thought was almost more terrifying. She took a deep breath as she pulled into her condo parking lot. Time to go inside. She had homework to do for the online classes she was taking to get her school counseling certification.

She didn’t actually check her cell phone until she’d opened her door. The Blarney Stone was always too noisy to hear the ring, and sometimes she forgot. The people she knew were at the Blarney Stone most nights anyway, so they didn’t need to call her.

But tonight she’d had a call. She didn’t recognize the number as she clicked on the voice mail.

A cheery voice echoed in her ear. Hey, Ronnie, how’s it going, sweetheart?

Her shoulders tightened so much that she almost dropped her cell. She slipped heavily onto the couch, holding the phone to her ear with nerveless fingers. She knew that voice. Oh, did she ever know that voice.

This is Sid Pepper, the voice went on. "You remember, sweetheart, Fairstein Productions? I was Glenn Donovan’s assistant on Finding Mr. Right. And Finding Miss Right. Well now I’m a director myself. Moving up in the world. Anyhoo…"

He chuckled. It was the most insincere laugh she’d ever heard.

Reason I’m calling is, I’ve got a proposition for you. New show. Great opportunity. You’ll love it, sweetheart. Just give me a call, and I’ll fill you in. ’Bye now.

Ronnie lowered the phone to her lap, staring at it as if it were venomous. Fairstein Productions had been responsible for some of the lowest points of her life. The only good thing about Finding Mr. Right was the fact that it had brought her to Salt Box. And introduced her to several of the people who were now her best friends. Monica McKellar had been an assistant producer on the show. Monica’s fiancé, Paul, had been one of the bachelors, although he hadn’t planned on it. They’d all stayed at Praeger House, where she’d met Clark Denham. And they’d spent several nights at the Blarney Stone with Nona and Dick and Ted.

When the show was finally over, she’d refused to go back to California, where Fairstein might put her into another show, or Florida, where her family wanted her to settle down. Instead she’d asked Ted for a job, and for some reason he’d given her one. And that job had led her to a whole series of decisions about her future.

Now Fairstein was knocking at her door again. And there was no way she’d let them in. No way.

She deleted the message and tossed the phone into her purse before heading for her computer. Whatever Fairstein wanted could wait. Maybe until Judgment Day.

Chapter Two

Ronnie knew exactly how she’d come across on Finding Miss Right and Finding Mr. Right.

Dumb. A dumb blonde.

People who watched the shows thought she didn’t know the difference between real love and the phony kind. They thought she’d been taken in by a bunch of bachelors who had no intention of being her one true love, who’d only been in it for the money and the publicity.

As far as the audience knew, she was just another celebrity airhead who was too stupid to understand that she’d been conned, and conned twice—once on Finding Miss Right where she’d been one of the rejected bachelorettes and once on Finding Mr. Right where she’d ended up with three men who didn’t give a damn about her.

Ronnie knew she wasn’t dumb. But she had been pretty naïve when the shows started. She’d learned a lot during her time on the set, and she’d learned even more after the shows were over.

She wasn’t naïve anymore. And she wasn’t going to call Fairstein Productions. Ever.

After a year as a barmaid at the Blarney Stone, she’d developed an expression that told male customers that while she might be friendly, she wasn’t available. The first time a customer had tried to grope her, she’d poured a beer in his lap. Dick and Nona had applauded, along with most of the crowd at the bar. After that, there’d been only a few other attempts, usually from out-of-towners. And the other waitresses had accepted her as one of their own.

No, she wasn’t going to call Fairstein. Definitely not.

But what could they want? Monica asked after Ronnie passed along the news at the Blarney Stone that evening. "They can’t put you into another dating show—you’ve done both of them. I guess there’s that Hook-up Hotel thing, but they can’t think you’d want to do that."

He said it was something new. It doesn’t matter anyway since I’m not doing it.

Aren’t you curious? Nona asked.

I’m not doing it, Ronnie repeated. There’s no point in asking.

There’s always a point in having information. Dick arched a gray eyebrow. "Know your enemy,