A Cameo for a Cowgirl
Chapter 1
Three Creek Ranch might be only thirty minutes from the hustle and bustle of Calgary’s high-rises, but it may as well be a million miles away. A different world away. A century—more—away. Cassie James leaned back in the saddle, stroking Ginger’s mane as she took in the view, her heart swelling with contentment. From her position on this rise, the ranch’s hills and valleys soared and dipped as they stretched toward the higher peaks of the Canadian Rockies, with not a sign of human habitation anywhere to be seen. Instead, she gazed upon trees and grassy meadows, the occasional deer or bird, and the three creeks that gave the ranch its name. The scenery was as it had been for hundreds of years, and for the past century or so that Cassie’s family had lived here.
She gently nudged Ginger and the palomino turned obediently in a half circle, bringing into view the ranch’s small western town. The buildings—everything from a steepled white chapel to a wooden boardwalk-lined collection of stores—had formed part of an original settlement, once upon a time. But the village had lain empty for years, superfluous as larger centers thrived. Then after the depression hit, forcing the last of the inhabitants to sell, Cassie’s great grandfather had expanded the family acres, swallowing the town in its entirety. Not all of the town was original—the schoolhouse and Silver Spur saloon had been trucked in from a hamlet an hour away—but the township was so complete, a perfect representation of pioneer life, that it had been used as a movie set for nearly twenty years.
She might’ve been a little girl when her parents had first mentioned the possibility of a movie company coming to film on their ranch, but she remembered it like yesterday.
Her dad had been so excited. “The producers love it here, love the fact it looks so unspoiled, with no modern-day trappings. And they’re willing to pay us to use the town,” he’d said. “Our ranch has to diversify. We can’t survive on just cows these days.”
Of course, it had helped that the Hollywood company had decided after filming that it was easier to offload the props, sets and costumes, selling them at a fraction of their cost to her folks rather than pay to transport them elsewhere. That had led her parents to the momentous decision to expand Three Creek’s operations into including a western movie set and backlot business as well, something that had fascinated Cassie for years, and something she’d taken responsibility for since graduating college five years ago.
So, while she still helped her dad around the ranch as much as she could, she had near total charge of ensuring the day-to-day running of the western town went smoothly. This meant everything from repairing buildings, and checking the prop and costume barn was watertight and pest-free, to fielding enquiries and taking bookings, to being the point person while a production company was in residence.
And today would see the return of the crew of the company filming As The Heart Draws, the historical TV show that had taken millions of viewers around the world by storm. People, like her, who longed for a simpler life, a good life. A time when good was good and evil wasn’t marketed as normal, or fun, or exciting. Over the years the ranch had played host to a number of famous actors, including Lincoln Cash, whose Hollywood career had skyrocketed since his appearance on the show several years ago.
Lincoln had been easygoing, even willing to sleep on-site in the accommodations Cassie had helped her dad create in some of the buildings. The show’s heroine, Ainsley Beckett, was another unpretentious type, perhaps because she’d been with the show since the beginning. Her blossoming career meant she was involved in other things as well now, but any day she was on set was a good one. Ainsley was super sweet, just like the character she played on As The Heart Draws. Viewers loved Abigail, the school teacher played by Ainsley, and her Canadian Mountie love interest.
But Cassie had heard that Abigail’s brand-new husband had been killed off—thanks to a conflicting Marvel movie schedule—which meant this season would see a new man in the schoolteacher’s life. Not that viewers knew this yet, as that season’s cliffhanger hadn’t yet aired. Cassie’s site manager role meant she was privy to all kinds of insider gossip, which had seen her sign a non-disclosure contract as well, ensuring her mouth stayed shut. Not even her parents knew that Abigail was getting a new beau, along with a scenario ensuring viewers would be in for another few seasons of “will they? won’t they?” as they negotiated the ups and downs of attraction before finally admitting they cared for each other and embarked on a relationship.
Such drama seemed like overkill to her. Why couldn’t two adults just have a mature conversation and admit they liked each other instead of teasing it out for so long? Drama for drama’s sake was way too complicated for her taste.
It wasn’t that she didn’t understand hurdles in a relationship. Her brother Franklin had certainly experienced his own challenges with trying to date local sports reporter, Hannah Wade, thanks to Hannah’s job. But they’d sorted it out, and were getting married in just a few weeks. Cassie had her own experiences with men who were needy in various ways—most often a need to prove their superiority—but a busy girl didn’t have time for playing games. It was just too much fuss. If she ever met a guy she liked, she’d let him know she was interested, without such shenanigans.
But it was precisely such shenanigans that meant the show could go on—and Three Creek Ranch would get paid—and the viewers would stay enthralled, both at the storyline and acting as much as the glorious scenery that brought every episode to life.
She drew in another breath, the crisp morning air holding a reminder of early spring, even as the clear skies promised summer. Oh, she loved it here. Call her conservative—various high school and university boyfriends sure had—but she was proud of her family’s legacy that allowed for an untainted landscape, that made it possible for people to escape into this world where the good guys ultimately won, and the bad always got what they justly deserved. Her family’s and her own Christian values shaped what movies and TV productions they allowed to be filmed here, which was why the occasional enquiry had to be rejected, as it didn’t fit the ranch’s “family values.”
As a repeat client, As The Heart Draws was always welcome, and she knew the sixteen-week schedule they’d booked for would be busy. She’d negotiated for a weekend off at the end of June to allow for her NHL player brother’s wedding. Franklin and Hannah—who’d been Cassie’s friend since high school—were due to use the chapel and a wedding tent rental for their celebrations, and the logistics of preparing for the huge number of guests were already starting to stress Cassie. Why she’d said yes to helping Hannah when Cassie already had huge responsibilities with the TV show was a mystery. Except it wasn’t really. Hannah was her best friend, and Franklin her favorite brother. Her only brother, but whatever. She might have workaholic tendencies—ranch life had taught her and her siblings the value of hard work from a young age—but she’d do anything to help make the day run smoothly and their dream wedding day come true.
She patted Ginger’s mane, enjoying the early hour, her favorite time before the day began. The time when peace would steal across her heart and remind her that while she wore a number of hats—movie set manager, ranch hand, cowgirl, daughter, sister, friend—that God was ultimately in control. The wedding would be fine, everything would run smoothly. And the new TV production would go well, and would surely help the ranch’s bottom line. “In Jesus’s name.”
In the distance, a small cloud of dust drew her attention. She squinted then exhaled, recognizing the line of trucks that signaled the arrival of the production company.
“Come on, girl.” She nudged Ginger and took the shortcut down the hill in order to help their arrival at the prop barn and office where she’d arranged they would meet.
She arrived at the white barn and dismounted, tied up Ginger, and dusted off her gloves and jeans. Then pushed back her shoulders, her white cowboy hat tipping back as she lifted her chin, smiled, and drew forward to greet Lance Fidler, the show’s location manager she’d dealt with before. Yes, today would be a good day. She could feel it.
* * *
A seaof expectant faces gazed at him, their smiles almost as big as his as he clutched the golden figurine. Pride filled him as he grinned and lifted the trophy high. “Thank you so much. You’ll never know—”
Bleep bleep bleep.
Harrison Woods cracked open a bleary eye as the alarm cut through his dreams. He groaned, then reached out a hand to tap off his phone. Let the day begin.
He rolled out of bed, staggered to the bathroom, then showered. Wrapped a towel around his waist, and smeared the fogged-up glass to study himself in the mirror. Winced. That face sure wouldn’t be winning any awards anytime soon. Anytime ever, the way he was going. And now, with this TV show he was still in two minds about, even though Richard Kneever, his agent, kept insisting that playing Special Constable Nathaniel Fraser was an awesome opportunity, he probably could kiss goodbye to any chance of ever being considered a serious actor. As The Heart Draws might have millions of fans around the world but come on. Honest talk? It was next door to being a TV soapie. And after just missing out on a gritty part in the latest Nicole Kidman and Reese Witherspoon collaboration, stepping into a Mountie role first made famous by Lincoln Cash was not exactly where he’d envisioned himself this time last year.
A faint memory of an old verse his grandma used to say tried to poke through his mental haze. Something about how a man could plan his course but God would determine his steps. Huh. Weird. Whatever. He yawned, stretched, then snatched up the fallen towel, and hurried to get changed. There weren’t any paparazzi cameras here, but a man could never be too careful. And with it being his first day on set at a new job he needed to be extra careful.
He quickly ate his breakfast—the hotel’s room service had got his eggs order wrong again—then packed, and walked out to his Camaro. Sure, it looked a little fancy for these parts, but it was warmer now, and with any luck, he might get the chance to take the top off soon.
Thirty minutes later he was following the audio cues of his CarPlay’s navigation system, frowning as he drove west along Highway 1. Maybe he should’ve taken the offer from Maxine, the production assistant assigned to him, and agreed to a driver, after all. He had a feeling he’d missed the turn-off. A sign to Canmore flashed past, triggering another memory. Hadn’t the directions said something about the set only being half an hour from the city center? He’d now been driving more than that, surely. He pulled over, hazard lights flashing, and checked his phone map. Hissed out a word. Then waited for a break in the traffic to rejoin.
A peek at the car clock wrinkled his nose. He’d now be pushing it to be on time. Way to go to make a good first impression. Well, second impression for some. He’d obviously made a good enough first impression with the director and producers in order for them to hire him. But for the rest of the crew, if he didn’t hurry, he’d show up late like an arrogant you-know-what who expected the world to revolve around him. Which he wasn’t. And didn’t. Which meant he needed a way to turn around. Pronto. But with no overpass in sight, and only the occasional potholed crossroads to farms or ranches that allowed zero margin of error—and certainly weren’t built for low-slung vehicles like this—he’d have to wait a little longer. Great.
He eyed his phone, toying with calling Maxine and giving her an explanation for why he’d be late. But from their previous interactions, he was pretty sure she already didn’t think highly of him. Apparently daring to complain about wanting his meals hot and not lukewarm might do that. Who knew? Regardless, he didn’t want to add to her load unnecessarily—or add to her low opinion.
Breath exhaled as an overpass appeared in the distance. Thank goodness. He flicked on his signal lights and veered off the service road, then had to wait to rejoin the road circling back to the highway as a huge truck trailer laden with logs inched its way past. He tapped the steering wheel, impatience writhing within. He supposed he could blame the navigation system, although really, it was his own need to make the most of the creature comforts of a hotel room before he was supposed to stay on-site at the ranch where they were filming.
Ugh. When Richard had first mentioned living on-site, Harrison had been tempted to say no. But his agent had assured him there would be a trailer outfitted with all the modern conveniences. Just as well. He didn’t do rustic accommodation. Had vowed never to live that way again, after a childhood where his dad drank away the rent money, forcing them to one-bedder dives and trailer parks. And he’d certainly never done camping. He’d have no idea even where to begin. This TV show being filmed mostly outdoors would be enough of a challenge for him. Especially given he’d be expected to ride horses.
Harrison winced. He knew how to ride a horse, but the last time he’d done so had been back in his mid-twenties, over half a decade ago. Fortunately, his audition this time around hadn’t depended on his horsemanship skills. He suspected the casting director had seen footage from previous jobs, including from his breakout role on TV, where a random episode had him riding a horse along the beach in a gratuitous shirtless moment. Ugh. At least this show meant he’d be keeping his shirt on. But he wasn’t looking forward to revisiting the nitty gritty of horse-riding.
He was looking forward to acting opposite Ainsley Beckett. Industry gossip said she was as nice as she was pretty. Last he’d heard, Ainsley wasn’t dating anyone, and despite what Marcia—the most recent of his exes—might think, he was flying solo these days. But he’d be willing to reconsider that if he and Ainsley hit it off. Their onscreen chemistry so evident in his audition might well translate to offscreen also. A man could hope, right?
But Ainsley and a decent pay packet were about the only advantages he could see. Despite what Richard said, Harrison still wasn’t sure if this was a good career move or just a stop-gap while he waited for his true big break. Historical drama aimed at conservative-leaning women sure wasn’t the gritty police detective series Lincoln Cash was now doing. But even Linc had done a stint on this, so who knew what lay in Harrison’s future?
His gaze flicked to his phone more than a few times as he carefully navigated to the ranch. He didn’t trust the directions pumped out by the onboard system anymore. He swung right, onto a side road, then followed it slowly, as evidence of the past winter was made plain by the road’s corrugated ridges and shallow dips. Another glance at the clock and he groaned aloud. It was already ten minutes past the designated arrival time. Definitely not the way to start.
A large sign advertising the Three Creek Ranch, Western Town and Backlot was placed near a gate that led to a long avenue of poplars. He steered his convertible past the gate, the anxiety within easing a little at the glorious view. The Canadian Rockies soared ahead, dressed in spruce and fir, some distant mountains still wearing caps of snow. It might be late spring, almost summer, but he could imagine how cold it would get around here. He’d heard reports of deep minuses in Albertan winters, minus forty or worse. He shuddered. Imagine having to live here in temperatures like that. He was thankful to have a place in LA for most of the year that he could rent out when he wasn’t staying there.
His lip curled as a rough wooden frame overhung what looked like the drive to the ranch house. He peered more closely. Yep. A two-storey ranch house with a steep-pitched roof lay at the end of another drive. But that wasn’t where he was headed. He followed the arrowed sign to the Western Town and Backlot, passing reddish-brown cattle grazing nearby. He drove over a slight rise, past another forested hill on which perched a rustic-looking farmhouse that had clearly seen better days, that he recognized as one of the sets from his viewing of the show. A sign warning of a “Texas gate” was immediately followed by the teeth-rattling car suspension testing of a cattle guard. Yep, a true ranch. The road led past a large red barn then down to where a spacious parking area was bordered by a clump of trailers and several portable buildings, next to a tree-covered hill. They sure liked their trees around here.
A silver-haired man dressed in a yellow hazard vest held a clipboard—so old school—and gestured for Harrison to slow from his snail-like pace. Harrison powered down the window as he braked.
“Name?” the man barked. His nametag read Hector.
He cleared his throat. “Harrison Woods.”
“Cast or crew?”
Wow. Good to know he was unrecognizable around here. “Cast.” He almost added “Leading man” but figured that wouldn’t go down well. But sheesh. Didn’t this man know who Ainsley Beckett’s new hero was meant to be?
“You’re late,” Hector said.
“I know that,” Harrison gritted out.
“The rest of the cast is doing a walk-through of the town with some crew, so you better hurry.”
He bit back a sigh. “Where should I park?”
Hector gestured behind him. “Anywhere’ll do.”
Anywhere? Didn’t this place have designated parking places for leading cast members and crew? He cleared his throat. “Where is the western town?”
The man pointed to the tree-clad hill. Harrison nodded, then drove his Chevy to the nearest available spot and parked. He grabbed his phone, then, after stepping outside, reached in and grabbed his leather jacket as well. It might be almost summer, but that breeze held plenty of chill still. He nodded to another worker, then hurried up the hill.
Another glance at his watch said he was only thirty minutes late. That wasn’t too bad. He’d been on some sets where people hadn’t shown for several hours. He wasn’t that late, at least. And Mal Hendricks, the show’s frontrunner—lead writer and director—had been pretty easygoing in their interactions so far. Not that Harrison wanted to push things on day one.
He was sweating by the time he crested the hill—he didn’t usually jog in a leather jacket—and forced his breathing to slow as he surveyed the scene. Huh. It really did appear old. From this vantage point, the wooden buildings splayed around the dirt track looked like they’d been here for a century or so. A score of single and two-storey wooden shingled buildings led down to what looked to be old railroad tracks and a white steepled chapel at the end of the dirt street. Whoever cared for the place had done an impressive job. The buildings looked weathertight and well-cared for, apart from a couple that appeared obviously worn, no doubt to provide contrast. A couple of buildings held wooden facades behind which lay white canvas tents, like the true olden days. It must be a huge job to care for this.
He glanced around. Not a modern antennae or powerline to be seen. If he hadn’t just seen the backlot and all those cars he could believe himself to be the only one here, transported back in time five generations. He pushed out a reluctant smile. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Especially if the catering was okay, and they served hot food and hotter coffee. And nobody hated on him for being a little late on his first day.
A collection of people emerged from the church, and he pushed back his shoulders. He wasn’t too sorry to have missed that. The church might only be a set, but he’d be happy to avoid it just the same. He may be an actor, but there was no point pretending he had any use for God these days. God certainly had no use for him.
He hurried past several white-trunked aspens and behind a building, working to avoid being seen. If he could join the little crowd and pretend he’d been here a while, that might be best. He slipped behind a saloon, then realized the door was unlocked, and he could go inside. So he did.
Inside was dim and dark, but even with the small square windows only allowing a little light, he could appreciate his surroundings. The rough timber poles holding up the wooden slatted roof were decked in animal skulls and pelts—an animal lover’s hell, as all of them looked real. Oak barrels lined one wall, while another held a few rickety-looking tables and chairs, and a third held a very ancient bar. But even this looked authentic, with uneven shelves displaying a collection of brown and dark glass bottles, along with some earthenware tankards and drinking glasses of various shapes and sizes. Above him hung several oil lanterns, and the huge white skull of what looked like a bighorn sheep. Hmm. If each building was dressed this way, it really could be interesting, and a great way to get in character.
He stroked a pelt—coyote, maybe?—then stilled as a creak came from outside. Uh oh. But he didn’t have time to get to the back entrance. He slid behind the front door, hoping that whoever was outside would either not feel the need to come inside, or if they did, the door would swing inwards and hide him. Looking like he was playing hooky in the saloon was definitely not the impression he needed to be making, especially on his first day. He stood in the shadows, waiting.
A murmur of voices came from outside. Then a woman’s voice, pitched low.
“And this is what we call Harry’s Saloon—”
He froze. What did she say?
“—and another of the original buildings from when it was a town. You’ll see it’s not nearly as nice inside as the Silver Spur, but it’s a good contrast with its skulls and furs, all of which came from here on Three Creek Ranch property.”
The door pushed open, and he slunk back further, thankful for its screen. Now to hide behind the door and hope nobody came in. From his position, behind the door yet near a window, he could see people standing outside on what looked like a real wooden boardwalk. He sure hoped they’d all stay outside. It’d be just his luck to have—
Oh, great. Someone entered, moving inside far enough that he could see it was a woman. His nose wrinkled. Her white cowboy hat and leather-fringed jacket marked her as a production assistant who’d gotten a little carried away with the western theme.
She turned on her booted heel, her blue jeans clinging to long legs, one arm gesturing inside as she smiled to those still outside, before pivoting back slightly.
Then her gaze met his, and her smile fell away as she gasped. But before he had a moment to process what was happening, she’d grabbed the door and rammed it into him.
He yelped, rubbing the side of his head as he saw stars. “What the—?”
“What are you doing in here?” she demanded.
Great question. How to explain without looking like even more of a fool than he already appeared?
He knew this was a day he should’ve stayed in that cozy hotel bed.