Chapter 3 #2
Mabel lifts her fist to knock again, but heavy footfalls from inside give her pause, and as the floorboards creak, the door rattles as the steps grow louder.
A moment later, the door is open and from behind the rickety screen door stands Landry Vaughn, even bigger than he looked when I saw him from afar the other day.
Piercing blue eyes land on me from beneath the brim of a worn cowboy hat. My breath catches, and I lift my hand in a silent hello as Mabel greets him.
“Howdy, Landry, this is Quinn. She’s staying at the inn. She’s the one shootin’ the movie about you. Thought I’d bring her down here to meet the star himself.”
My heart can’t contain itself behind my ribs. “Hi, Landry. Nice to meet you.”
He steps out, using the tip of his boot to nudge the screen door open. One rough, worn hand comes to his hat, and he drags it slowly from his head, revealing a mess of dark hair, a bit longer than I expected. He runs his hand through it silently, then extends his arm, inviting us into his house.
“Mornin’,” he finally greets as Mabel steps over the threshold and saunters inside.
I follow behind, stopping inside the door to face Landry.
He’s about six-foot-two, and with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, worn denim that clings to his muscular thighs, and rolled-up T-shirt sleeves that can barely contain his biceps, he seems like a mountain of a man.
“I’m excited to film and get to know you, and capture your comeback,” I tell him, then step past him, moving deeper into the house. He closes the door.
“Just you?” he asks, gracing me with that deep voice that makes bumps lift on my arms. Why do I feel like I disappoint him when I nod?
My pink cowboy boots click as I follow after him, down a wide hallway that gives way to a large family room and attached kitchen.
There are windows everywhere with sunshine pouring through, and despite the dilapidated state of the farmhouse, everything is neat, tidy, and cozy.
Two big blue pillows rest on a floral printed couch, one that was likely made in the seventies but has been comfortably broken in till perfection and, therefore, cannot be parted with.
I totally get that. My mom’s couch is much the same.
A blanket is draped over the back, and along the wall near the hearth is a large stack of firewood, enclosed with a metal grate.
Books about farming, animals, and the rodeo line the shelves of an old bookcase, and a family photo hangs on the wall.
Landry, younger and clean-shaven, wearing a nice shirt and a bolo tie, hair combed and hatless, next to a beautiful woman with chestnut waves, a tiny baby tucked into her arms.
My stomach drops. For a moment, I forgot about the crushing story this man hides beneath that brawn and muscle. Turning, I find Landry Vaughn watching me, his blue eyes locked on to me as Mabel helps herself to a mug of coffee in the kitchen.
“Where’s the short stack?” she asks, but Landry answers her with his eyes on me.
“Outside, catchin’ Big Bertha.” He tips his head to the side, only slightly. “Where's your filming gear?”
Those blue eyes set on me and that deep voice directed my way makes the back of my neck hot.
“Oh, I…” I hadn’t expected him to ask that, though in fairness that is why I’m in Sable Sky.
Hell, that is why I’m in this man’s private residence.
To film. “I just thought we’d meet today and set up a time to go over the lay of the documentary.
” The last two days have been nothing but hiding from Mr. McCharger and filling my notebook with my master plan.
“You gotta get to know him a little first, before you guys start filming, don’t you?
” Mabel asks, crossing the room to pass me a mug of coffee.
I take it, feeling like I ought to ask permission because I’m not Mabel, I’m not a regular, I’m just a stranger in his home and life, temporarily intruding only to disappear in a few months.
Suddenly the intimacy and vulnerability of documentaries almost feels like an overstep, but I look at Landry, who is still watching me, and remind myself that he said yes to this. He agreed for some reason.
“Sure.” I smile at Mabel, and follow her lead when she takes a seat on Landry’s couch. He remains standing, but this time splits his gaze between me and her.
“How many people are in your crew?” he asks me, shoving his big hands into his pockets.
Impressive ink fills the entirety of one of his arms, and my eyes catch on a particularly large rearing bronco centering his bicep.
I didn’t know cowboys got tattoos, but now I know that they do, and I like that.
Nerves wiggle up my spine. “Um, none. None on the ground, I mean. UBS makes documentaries in a single-shot style, which means… it’s just me,” I say, offering a smile.
Only, his face doesn’t budge, and a curious grunt echoes in his throat.
“The methodology we use creates a more intimate documentary, and allows for the best fly-on-the-wall feeling. I’ll be taking all of the main footage and B-roll, and I’ll do the editing as well.
A sound engineer will step in at the end during the editorial phase, but yeah… just me.”
I don’t miss the way his Adam’s apple slides down his throat as his eyes narrow on me. “No sound guy or anything?”
I lick my lips, feeling nervous to disappoint him. “Just me.”
“Just her,” Mabel says, and then I catch her wagging her brows at him like she’s playing Cupid, and my face immediately sheets red. I set my coffee on a tiny little RODEO 2019 coaster and get to my feet, treading to the sliding door.
“I’d love a tour of your property today, to get a lay of the—” My thoughts and words abruptly drop off a cliff when I lay eyes on a tiny little girl out in the pasture, who I know is Landry’s daughter, Sadie.
Wearing a Cinderella T-shirt, black leggings, and worn brown cowboy boots, her tawny hair bounces behind her with each excited step. In her arms is a chicken, its head nuzzled into her neck as she trots back toward the house, cheeks pink from her morning on the farm.
The backs of my eyes burn, and I don’t even know why.
She’s gorgeous, and the smile she hands me when she steps up onto the back porch has my nose stinging.
She slides open the door, tucks the bird beneath her arm, and outstretches a filthy little palm to me.
“Put ’er there,” she greets, smiling at me, her two front teeth missing.
“I’m Sadie. You’re the movie lady, right? ”
I nod my head as I bend slightly, bringing myself closer to her eye level. I shake her hand. “Nice to meet you, Sadie. Yes, I’m the movie lady. My name is Quinn. I’ll be filming you guys to make a movie about your daddy for the next few months. Does that sound cool?”
She shrugs. “I’ve only seen nine movies.”
Mabel whistles, and Sadie’s head snaps to her. “Miss Mabel!” she grins, abandoning the chicken in a heartbeat to run across the room and leap into Mabel’s arms.
Mabel hugs the little girl, and around the swathe of hair in her face, eyes me, nodding toward the back door. “Landry, why don’t you give her the tour and I’ll stay here and catch up with my favorite chick and chicken?” Sadie plays with Mabel’s silvering hair, looking up at her adoringly.
I could get lost in the way Sadie so tenderly looks into Mabel’s eyes. I find my eyes stinging again, and feel so silly from being emotional over a little girl. I look over at Landry, and my breath catches in my throat when I see him watching me.
“You ride?” he asks, voice rough.
I shake my head. “I don’t like motorcycles.”
He blinks at me. “Horses.” His eyes drop to my boots, pink and glittery, silk tassels hanging off the back like a horse’s mane. “Never mind.” He tips his head toward the door and places his hat back on his head, which makes my stomach clench delightfully.
I thought I was a city girl, but this cowboy is making me melt.
“C’mon now, I’ll show you the property, and we can talk.”
This is work. I am making an incredible film. I am going to get into the Indie Film Festival. I am going to be known for my intimate documentaries. Devin will regret his choice. Camel Toe will never live up to me.
These are the things I repeat to myself as I watch the best ass I’ve ever seen absolutely own an old-as-hell pair of Levi’s as I walk behind Landry out onto the back porch.
As soon as the door is shut, he turns to me, voice low, full of caution.
“You do what you came here to do, film what you need to film. You got my permission for everything. But under no circumstances are you to trudge up anything related to Amelia,” he says, pausing, waiting, watching my eyes to see that I do know who Amelia is, that I did my research and am wholly aware of his backstory.
I nod my head, mouth dry from his sudden intensity, my insides tightening at the way he’s protecting his privacy.
“I don’t want my girl going through any of that, so nothing about my wife.” His eyes search mine. “Got it?”
My heart races and my palms grow clammy as a rush of fresh air tosses strands of blonde hair over my face. I tug them back and nod, quietly answering, “Got it.”