A Taste of Fame by Linda Evans Shepherd Page A

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