Chapter 4
Cassie lassoed the steer and directed it to the gate where her father waited. Once upon a time she’d had fun entering rodeos and had even scored cash prizes for her skills in breakaway and tied-down calf roping. These days she was always too busy.
“Thanks, Cass. He’s a stubborn one, this one.”
“No problem.”
“I mean it. I appreciate your help. Especially when you’re so busy, with the TV show and the wedding and all.”
She winced. The wedding. She still needed to organize the details for Hannah’s girls’ night in Calgary this weekend. Was three days long enough? She needed something spectacular and memorable, yet offering a degree of privacy. Something that wasn’t crazy expensive, but was still Instagram-worthy for a sports reporter who needed to keep her social media likes coming. She sighed. Looked like Poppy and Jess might need to help her out with some ideas.
Her father peered at her. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yep.” Dad didn’t need to know any of that. “Now that the show has clicked into gear I’m only checking on prop inventory today, so it’s fine. I’ll start on that when I’m finished here.”
“Okay,” her dad said slowly. “But are you doing okay?”
She nodded, pasting on a smile. “Nothing to see here.”
He studied her. “You were a little distracted last night, that’s all.”
There was a six-foot-one reason for that. And then the Holy Spirit may have whispered that her conduct wasn’t exactly shining a light for Jesus. And while a certain Mountie wannabe had the ability to annoy the snot out of her, it didn’t change the fact that God still loved him. Which was just as well, because she sure didn’t.
“I’m fine, Dad.” And she’d remain fine. Because doing inventory in the prop barn today meant she’d be guaranteed to stay away from the man who pushed her buttons like nobody else had in forever.
After unsaddling Ginger and releasing her to the horse pasture for the day, she went inside the ranch house and kissed her mom on the cheek.
“You’re up early,” Mom said.
“When am I not?”
After a quick breakfast of cereal and coffee—no way was she taking a chance she might bump into a certain actor again—she checked with her mom about the whereabouts of Miranda.
“I think she’s in the barn. Why?”
“I might need her for an inventory check.”
Her mom winced. “Not another mouse problem again?”
“I hope not. But if Miranda is there we’ll soon know.”
She blew her mom a kiss, collected the cat and loaded her in the cat carrier. Miranda had proved the most effective way of dealing with the troubles three years ago. Better than bait which mice ate before hiding in tiny crevices where they died, only to stink up the building, forcing days of arms-aching removal of thousands of items to prevent them from being contaminated. Miranda was a mouser, born and bred for such a task, and as valuable a member of the ranch team as anyone else.
She secured the carrier in the back of her battered old Ford pickup then drove to the prop barn. Part of the arrangement with TV and movie production companies was that they had access to the Three Creek props, many of which were leftovers from companies that hadn’t wanted the bother of taking them away. It meant their collection was vast, ranging from everything from period-appropriate furniture and bric-a-brac, to animal skulls (all real), to costumes and footwear and accessories for men, women and children. All in a variety of colors and sizes.
Because As The Heart Draws was a repeat customer, many of their costumes for returning cast members were held in a special shipping container, accessed each year by them and nobody else. Their prop department also had a solid idea of how they’d like to dress the sets, which meant they’d already checked out much of what they required. Rather than the tedium of arranging the rental of individual items, she’d organized a general fee for this crew. The lack of hassle probably helped to make the Three Creek Ranch a preferred destination for filming. Nobody needed more fuss in their life. She’d gotten enough fuss yesterday to last her all year. And she really didn’t need to discover another mouse colony in her barn.
She waved a hand at Hector at the gate. The security guard and his clipboard were constant mainstays of any production, and he took his job very seriously. Not that the Three Creek Ranch Western Town and Backlot had ever experienced vandals or thieves. But thanks to the huge interest in As The Heart Draws there was intrigue about the set’s location, and Hector had kept the odd fan or lost tourist away. It’d be nice if he steered his interest in her away too, but she’d learned the delicate art of suppressing hopes and killing off those rabbit trails of admiration in the effort to keep him on-side. His burly presence offered a feeling of protection she certainly didn’t experience in the company of a certain actor who was supposed to be a hero. Harrison’s presence instead held an unsettling quality, like he was dangerous.
She parked, shaking her head at her foolishness. Good thing she wouldn’t have to deal with him today. After retrieving Miranda, she opened the prop barn’s door and entered the world of a bygone era.
The scent of age arose to meet her but, fortunately, she couldn’t smell anything else. Miranda’s reaction would soon make it plain if there was something to be concerned about. She opened the carrier’s door, and sure as a bullet, Miranda streaked out, a silent blur of orange fur.
Cassie’s heart tensed. But Miranda racing off like that didn’t mean she’d spotted the enemy, more that she didn’t like being cooped up in her travel cage.
Sure enough, after a thorough investigation of the premises, Miranda returned, her demeanor placid. The cat took to her chair, a plush vintage armchair one commandeered from a faith-friendly production from two years ago, and commenced licking herself, the sign that all was well.
“Thank You, God.”
The next hours were spent fielding phone calls and counting stock for upcoming accountancy purposes, before a knock preceded the door opening.
“Hello?”
Cassie hurried down the aisle of framed sepia photographs to the front, where a young woman she hadn’t seen before was peering around, her eyes huge. “Yes?”
The young woman startled, then smiled. “Are you Miss James?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, hi. I’m Maxine. I’m the assistant to Mr. Woods.”
Mr. Woods? Why didn’t that name ring a bell? Was he one of the new crew or producers? “Okay. How can I help you?”
“I’m really sorry to interrupt you, but Mr. Woods has asked me to find alternative accommodation. I was told by Lance Fidler that there were some spare rooms in the town we could use.”
“Yes.” Cassie straightened, eyeing the young woman who looked fresh out of college. “You weren’t on set last year, were you?”
“No, I’m new.”
Cassie nodded. “Okay. So, we do have a few rooms in the western town we’ve used for accommodation.” She smiled. “Lincoln Cash stayed in one of them for a dare a few years ago.”
Maxine grinned. “That must’ve been fun having him around.”
“He was game for anything.” Unlike a certain man who was scared of a mouse. She smirked. “Anyway, my dad and I spent last winter refurbishing some of those rooms for guest accommodation.” As another revenue source for the ranch. “And while in the past we’ve had most of the cast and crew stay in trailers, some cast members”—like Tanner last year—“didn’t like the claustrophobic feeling of them. So we thought we’d offer an alternative this year to the trailers, and if anyone wanted they could stay in one of our on-site apartments.”
“Do they have bathrooms?” Maxine rolled her eyes. “Apparently that’s a really important factor.”
“They do.”
“Good. And they’re ready to go now?”
“Sure are.” Cassie smiled. “I can put Mr. Woods in one of our nicest rooms at the back of the barber’s. It’s one of the biggest so he should feel quite comfortable there.”
“Thank you.” Maxine’s nose wrinkled. “He gets a little fussy about some things, so if there’s a chance to make things right I’d appreciate it.”
“Fussy?” She didn’t like to gossip, but none of the cast she knew could claim that characteristic. Apart from someone she’d deigned not to think about anymore.
The blonde grimaced. “Apparently there was a mouse in his trailer, and—”
Ah, bless. She might’ve known.
“—so that’d be awesome if you could help me out.”
Cassie nodded. She’d be helping this poor woman out, even if she didn’t really want to be helping out Harrison. His manner with her was too unnerving to ever be truly comfortable. She bet he still thought she was part of the crew. Which, to be fair, she kind of was. But still.
The reminder from her earlier prayer time drifted close again. Fine, God. She gritted her teeth and smiled. “I’ll come with you now and show you where it is.”
The barber’s was situated in the middle of the town, but according to the production schedule notes was not destined to be used in filming in the booked time period. Of course, things could change, and a particular building be requested for use, which she’d happily oblige: hello, increased revenue. But the beauty of the apartments was that they were all tucked away at the back, in buildings on the perimeter. Each had separate entrances and were designed so that while filming happened in the front rooms, someone could be living in the back and nobody would be any wiser. She and her father had installed bathrooms that matched building codes but gave no hint of their modernity from the outside, drains and pipes all disguised by wooden piers and fascia.
She showed Maxine the room, which she approved, then for kicks showed her the front as well.
“Back in the day a barber’s sometimes also operated as an undertakers and a morgue.”
“A morgue?” Maxine glanced around like she expected a mummy to suddenly fall from a closet.
“Don’t worry. We disposed of all the bodies we found. In the cemetery by the church.”
Maxine’s eyes rounded.
Cassie chuckled. “Just kidding. No dead bodies here, I promise.”
Judging from Maxine’s expression, Cassie wasn’t sure she believed her. “But why would they do that?”
“I don’t know. But in historical times, if there wasn’t a dedicated undertaker, then I suppose the man you trusted with shaving your throat might also be entrusted with preserving bodies.”
Maxine wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I’ll tell him all that.”
“Probably best not to.”
After giving Maxine a key, Cassie opened the window to let in fresh air. And while part of her was sorely tempted to short-sheet Harrison’s bed, another part—the part that was trying to listen to the Holy Spirit and follow in Jesus’s footsteps—knew she had to let that antagonism die and show love instead.
Fine then. She’d make sure his apartment was the nicest it could possibly be. She might even deign to put fresh flowers in the room. And she’d be sure to put a Bible in a prominent position beside the bed, just like the Gideons used to do. Heaven knew the man needed it.
* * *
It waslate by the time he returned to his trailer, only to remember he’d been moved. But where? The day had been long, and he had a vague recollection of Maxine saying something, but where…?
He stabbed his phone and got her number. “Maxine? Where am I supposed to be?”
“Did you find the barber’s?”
“The what?” He touched the back of his neck, then remembered what she had said earlier.
“The barber’s in the western—”
“—town, I remember.” He slapped his back pocket, found the key she’d handed to him several hours ago before exiting the site like most lowly production assistants did. Their accommodation wasn’t supplied on-site, unlike those crew members with better pay grades. He frowned. So what did that make the cowgirl wannabe? She must be more important than he’d thought.
Shaking off thoughts of her—thank goodness she’d been invisible today—he refocused on the matter at hand. “So, my stuff is all there?”
“Yep. You should be ready to move in.”
“And there’s definitely a real bathroom? I won’t have to go trekking back to the backlot toilets in the middle of the night?” Probably TMI, but it was important. Growing up poor in a place that sometimes didn’t have a functioning toilet left an impression on a man.
“You’ll like it there, I promise. It’s been renovated recently. I spoke to the owner and apparently Lincoln Cash stayed there before it got done up.”
Huh. He didn’t know whether to be more impressed by the fact his assistant had spoken to the owner when he still hadn’t, or whether to be challenged by the fact that if Lincoln had stayed there, then he now had to as well. No way was he going to let that man outdo him any more than absolutely necessary.
“Thanks, then.”
“Sleep well.” She ended the call before he could say anything more.
Hmm. If he hadn’t experienced a few more looks from Dana and the cook, he’d start to think he was losing his touch with women. And while he appreciated the fact that Maxine was new in this role, the fact a college girl came across as barely willing to give him the time of day felt weird, and more than a little wrong. That, combined with the cowgirl’s indifference and antipathy…was he losing his charm?
He trekked back past the mess hall, waved to a few of the crew who were still up, then followed the solar flare-lit path up the hill. He paused on the crest. Here, the western town slept in moonlit glory, and his heart skipped a beat or two. If he didn’t know better, he could’ve been transported back in time a century and a half. All it needed was for the saloon to have a few drunks whooping it up for a genuine 1800s vibe. But he was glad no drunks were here. He needed sleep, and the thought of fresh sheets and a real bed hurried him to where he thought the barber’s might be.
But the town looked different in the night. He’d always prided himself on his sense of direction, but the streets appeared to have turned around from what he thought he knew. Even entering what he thought was the main street seemed different now.
He peered up at the overhangs, using his phone’s flashlight to light the signs. Nope. That was the general store. That one, the haberdashers. A few steps further—nope. Harry’s Saloon. Man. Where was the barber’s?
The key was burning a hole in his back pocket, and he wondered at the wisdom of this. Maybe he should’ve stuck it out another night in the trailer. But two nights of interrupted sleep, knowing there was a mouse on the loose, was two nights too many. He’d flubbed his lines too many times today to feel comfortable about getting away with any more. Harrison could appreciate that Mal might be extending some grace to the newbie, but he suspected it’d pretty soon come across as unprofessional if it continued.
So where was the barber’s?
He glanced at his phone, half tempted to call Maxine again. But surely that would just make him look even more lame than she already thought. He was a grown man, for goodness sake. It shouldn’t be this hard.
A rustle from the hill raised the hairs on his neck. His fingers clenched. Nope. He didn’t believe in ghosts, despite the fact there was a cemetery nearby. It was fake, right? But when the shivering sound was followed by a loud screech, his heartbeat increased, and he reached out a hand. Felt something move.
He shrieked, stumbling backwards, then falling over and into a water trough, and released another yell. “Are you freakin’ kidding me?”
Sorely tempted to swear, he got up, his jeans now all wet, along with his smartwatch. He’d dropped his phone—hopefully not in the water—and checked the dirt, where he’d been standing. Took a step. Heard a crack. Did swear this time. He picked it up. Saw the cracked screen. Felt his heart fist. Whoever thought this was a good idea didn’t have a clue about occupational health and safety. “This is ridiculous!”
Then a light flicked on in the chapel.
No way. Someone was there, all this time? Had they heard him scream? Oh, man, he hoped it wasn’t—
He swallowed another word as a figure appeared. He recognized that white hat. What the heck was she doing out here at this time of night? Didn’t she have a home to go to?
“Mr. Woods?” She held up her phone, its flashlight mode activated. In the reflected glow he could see her wide eyes as she scanned him, head to toe. “What on earth—?”
“Whoever is responsible for putting accommodation in this hick town should be shot!”
“Excuse me?”
“This place is filled with trip hazards! A person could die out here.”
“A person could die anywhere, so I think you’re being a little dramatic.”
“I’m an actor. That’s what we do. Especially when some fool leaves water in a trough and there’s no light or guard rail to stop a person from falling into it.”
She pressed her lips together, but the cough she gave sounded awfully like a smothered chuckle.
“It’s not funny! I could’ve been seriously injured! I’ve got a good mind to sue whoever is responsible for this.”
All amusement faded as she took a step forward. “Mr. Woods—”
Oh, he was Mr. Woods now, was he?
“—I’m very sorry this happened. We do have lights for nighttime, but I don’t know why they weren’t activated.”
A faint bell rang at that last word, something else Maxine had said. But what?
“You’re staying in the barber’s, right?”
“Yes,” he gritted out.
“Didn’t Maxine give you instructions about turning on the power box at the top of the hill?”
He ground his teeth. Maybe she had.
“Have you had a chance to find your accommodation yet?”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the last twenty minutes?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Truly, I am.”
“Can you please just show me where I’m supposed to stay? I’m wet, tired, and really not in the mood to exchange small talk a second longer.”
“Of course.” Her voice was subdued. “Please come this way.”
He followed her, and he wondered again at her role here. She seemed to be everywhere and have far greater involvement than what he’d first thought.
“Why were you at the chapel?”
She glanced at him. “Just finalizing a few more details for a wedding that’s happening the weekend after this.”
The weekend the production had off: a rare moment in an otherwise crammed schedule. He couldn’t wait to get out of Dodge and maybe go visit Banff and experience some real accommodation, sleep in a real bed, enjoy some luxury and peace and quiet for a change. He had a feeling that whatever waited for him at the barber’s wasn’t going to be much better than that water trough.
“Just in here.” She led down a small alley, then pointed to a door he hadn’t noticed before. “Got your key?”
“Yeah.”
He opened the back door, and she pointed to where the light switch was. He flicked it on, and instantly the room was bathed in soft light.
Huh. Far from being a decrepit spiderwebbed-dressed room a la Harry’s Saloon, this place was almost as nice as the hotel suite he’d stayed in only a few nights ago.
The bed might not be king-sized, but it was big enough for him, and suited the space. He peeked inside the bathroom, surprised that the compact space held as much as it did, with a shower over bath, toilet and washbasin on what looked like a reclaimed dresser.
“I hope the hot water works,” he muttered.
She flicked the faucet a few times, and a few seconds later steam rose from the bowl. “Looks like it does.”
Okay, then.
She moved to the window, lowering it a little. “I wasn’t sure if you’d prefer fresh air or not.”
“I like fresh air but I don’t want open windows if it means critters can get in.”
“There’s a screen.” She smiled. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”
Hmph.
Here in the light he could see her better now, and after the past few days of staying away, he noticed she looked weary, dark smudges underscoring her eyes. “What are you doing working at this time of night?”
She shrugged. “Like I said, I had to sort some stuff for the wedding.”
Why she was involved in the wedding when the production crew had that weekend off seemed weird to him. But who knew exactly what went on around here? Besides, he was too tired to care, and getting colder by the second.
“I’m sorry about the water trough,” she said. “I do hope you won’t hold it against us.”
He sighed. “It’s a hazard, that’s what it is.”
She nodded, her gaze falling to her boots, as if she was taking this personally.
“You just need to have those lights on,” he added more gently.
“I’ll make sure of it.” She glanced up, but her face was expressionless, her gaze not touching his. “Was there anything else?”
“No. Thanks.”
“I hope you have sweet dreams.”
“I doubt it.” Her lips pressed together again, and he realized how churlish that made him sound, so he quickly added, “I’m an actor. I have a vivid imagination. We’ll see.”
“Good night.”
She shut the door with a gentle click, leaving him to survey the room and absorb the peace and ambiance. For all the room’s updated features, he could also appreciate the ties to the past, such as the weathered wooden floorboards, and the cream-painted watering can that held an arrangement of sweet-smelling roses. Little touches that helped him get into feeling his character more. Little touches, like the oatmeal cookies in a glass jar beside the bed, with a handwritten note that said “Sweet dreams” that made him wonder if the cowgirl was responsible for that as well. Which was probably a step way too far for a mere production assistant, unless she really was someone who went the extra mile.
After showering in the best shower he’d had since home, he nibbled a cookie—surprisingly good—and checked through the small library of books in the armoire that also hid a TV. Louis L’Amour, Jack London, Larry McMurtry, Elmore Leonard, some girly looking stuff by someone called Janette Oke.
Next to his bed lay a Bible. He didn’t dare touch it, but it lay there, taunting him.
Once upon a time he’d believed. Until the preacher’s emphasis on God being a father had turned his stomach, as his own dad was no endorsement of anything good. Then life and busyness and fakery had gotten in the way. Distractions, his grandma would’ve called it.
He reached into his bag and pulled out the cameo, the talisman he often carried that he’d saved from one of his dad’s drunken benders. His father had never valued anything of his grandmother’s, but Harrison had known his mom would like it, even if it had resulted in the worst thrashing Harrison had received in his life.
Gladness filled him that his grandmother wasn’t here to see the man he’d become, the shallow, petty man who complained about stupid things. She’d be ashamed of him. And because his Grandma had always been the gold standard by which he compared all women, she most likely would’ve been prodding him to change.
Easier said than done.