Chapter 3
The sound drew Cassie’s focus from the peace of the first soft golden lift of dawn to nudge Ginger to a gallop. Something was wrong. She cantered down the hill overlooking where the trailers were parked, relieved to see the security guard was awake and was hurrying to a lit-up trailer where she presumed the sound had come from. What had happened? This was terrible. How many other things would go wrong—and they hadn’t even started filming yet?
One of the trailers’ doors was flung open, and a figure staggered out in boxers. She blinked. Okay.
Wait. She squinted. Was that Mr. Grumble-bum from yesterday? Her lips lifted on one side. Had that been him screaming? Or—she frowned—someone else? As the person responsible for the site, she needed to find out.
She directed Ginger to the trailer compound and tied her to a wooden fence rail, then hurried to the trailer that had its lights on. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like others had been disturbed, although why the others had stayed asleep while she heard the cry for help was a mystery.
A rumble of low voices drew her then she stumbled to a pause. Up close, Harrison Woods, in almost all his glory, was certainly a sight to behold for a woman who had never seen a naked man. Not that he was naked, exactly. Thank goodness he wore boxers.
His gaze pivoted to her, then his jaw sagged. “You.”
“Me.” She smiled.
Today’s security guard—Chuck—coughed. “You might want to put some clothes on, Mr. Woods.”
“What happened?” she asked, pointedly not looking at the actor, who quickly disappeared back inside the trailer.
Was that a smile on Chuck’s face? It couldn’t be all bad if he was smiling, could it?
“I, um, think it’s all under control now.”
“Was it him screaming?” she asked in a low voice, gesturing toward the trailer. “Or was that someone else?”
Now that was definitely a smile. Her heart eased a smidge.
“It was him,” Chuck confirmed. “It appears a small creature might’ve been responsible.”
“What?”
No. Not a mouse. She sure hoped he didn’t mean a mouse. The trailers might be rented but she couldn’t afford for any mice to get into the props barn and wreak havoc like they had three years ago. Too many costumes and soft furnishings had needed tossing then replacing, and she had no interest in a repeat. Apart from the heartbreaking damage and sheer grossness factor of cleaning, the business might not survive too many financial hits like that. Besides, as the person managing the site, she’d always felt a sense of responsibility for things running smoothly while any production was on Three Creek land.
Chuck’s soft snickers quieted. “A mouse.”
She sighed. Lord, keep my props safe. “Let me guess: he doesn’t like mice.”
“No, I don’t.”
Her gaze swerved up to where Harrison now wore a t-shirt and jeans. She bit her lip. His t-shirt was on inside out. “Are you okay now?”
“I wasn’t scared,” he insisted.
“Of course not,” she said soothingly.
His eyes narrowed, and she had to bite back laughter. Chuck wasn’t so circumspect, his renewed barely-smothered chuckles drawing another look of annoyance from the show’s new hero.
Aww, bless him. She’d never met a man who was frightened by a mouse. Her dad sure wasn’t, and she’d bet if Franklin met one he’d simply clobber it with a hockey stick and call it done. Good thing her brother was marrying Hannah and not someone with overly developed animal-loving sensibilities like Jess.
“Do you need me to come inside and check for you?” she asked, as innocently as she could.
“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
She ignored his insinuation, keeping her smile sweet. “No, not at all. I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea about things here.”
He muttered something she couldn’t quite hear.
“Alright then. I’ll take that as a no.” She backed away.
His bicep bulged as he rubbed a hand over his face, his cheeks bristly in a morning look some might call sexy. Not that she thought him attractive. He was much too grouchy at this time of day to be appealing. He frowned at her. “What are you doing around here anyway at this time? The sun hasn’t even risen yet.”
“Actually…” She pointed to the golden-hued horizon.
He made a face, mumbling something else she guessed wasn’t complimentary—about the early hour or herself, she didn’t care to know.
“I’m an early bird. We tend to get the worm.”
He yawned. “I sure don’t plan on getting worms while I’m here.”
She chuckled, and he appeared to realize what he said, as his cheeks pinked. “I mean—”
“I know what you meant.” Was it un-Christian of her to enjoy watching him squirm? This day kept getting better and better. “Well, are you definitely okay to go back to sleep now?”
“You want to hold my hand and make sure?” he grouched.
Yeah, that’d be a solid “no.”
He turned, and the way the shirt clung to him she could count his abs. If she’d been a different kind of woman she might take a mental picture. But because she wasn’t that kind of woman, she looked away. “Alright then. If you’re sure you’ll be okay.”
“I’m not a child,” he snapped.
“Of course you’re not.”
His gaze lasered into hers in a look that said he was very much not amused by her tone. She swallowed a smile. She hadn’t meant to sound patronizing. Well, not much, anyway.
If his eyes narrowed anymore they might shut. Which might be good for all concerned. “I’ll let you get back to sleep now, then shall I?” She nodded to Chuck. “Have fun with that.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her lips quirked, and she hurried back to Ginger, untying her. Well, if she needed confirmation, there it was. The show’s big handsome hero was afraid of mice. And was definitely not a morning person. He couldn’t be more opposite to her if he tried.
She movedto where sounds from the dining hall suggested the cooks were already up and preparing breakfast. Most of the cast and crew would take another hour before they would wake, but days like today with predicted fine weather meant it was important for people to make the most of the daylight hours while they could. She went inside.
“Hey Ms. James!” Annie Hunter, the production’s chief cook, beamed at her.
“Mornin’.” Cassie grinned. She did love a person who appreciated an early start like she did.
“Usual?”
“Please.”
Annie moved to the coffee pot and poured Cassie a cup. “I haven’t had a chance to get the fixings out yet.”
“I know where it all is.” Cassie drew out the plastic tub of creamers and sweetener varieties and placed them on the table next to where Annie hefted the coffee urn. Real milk and real cream would come out when the first of the real crew straggled in. “I hope the pipes are all still working?”
“You did good, hon. It’s all working as it should be.”
Phew. “Thank You, God.”
“Amen,” Annie agreed. “We don’t want no more complaints about the coffee not being hot enough, now do we?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I get the impression a certain somebody is addicted to the stuff.”
“Mm-hm.”
Annie winked. “Good thing that man is plenty fine to look at, right?”
If you liked your cup of joe with a shot of snarl in the morning. “Sure.”
“I mean, Tanner was good-looking and all, but I always felt there was something just a little babyish about his face, like I couldn’t quite believe him to be on Ainsley’s level. This Harrison, however.” She fanned herself. “Holy smokes. The man’s got a bit of something something about him, don’t you think?”
Cassie swallowed a smile, knowing Annie was just playing, doing her best to get Cassie to bite. Annie was a grandmother, and had been happily married to Ted, the lead horse wrangler, for nearly forty years, and had never been shy about offering her opinions about anything and everything—especially Cassie’s love life, or lack thereof. If Annie thought that about Harrison now, she would likely have combusted or melted into a puddle on the spot at the sight Cassie had seen just fifteen minutes earlier.
A cleared throat swung her attention behind. Then her jaw to the floor. She closed it with an audible snap, as Annie chuckled.
“Well, hello handsome. We were just talking about you, weren’t we, Miss Cassie?”
* * *
He just bet they were.Coming in on the tail-end of a conversation where it was apparent he was the topic of choice was never much fun. At least Ms. Annie thought him okay in the looks department. Miss Cassie, on the other hand, seemed determined not to look at him at all.
Well, good. He pushed down the little internal huff of disappointment—seriously? She didn’t think him good-looking?—and nodded to the coffee urn. “Is it ready yet?”
“Sure thing, Sweet Cheeks,” Annie answered.
Sweet Cheeks?
He rubbed a hand over his jaw then glanced over at where Miss Cowboy Hat stood, sipping her coffee, watching him like she couldn’t believe it was him.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”
“I’m just surprised to see you up. I got the impression before that mornings weren’t exactly your thing.”
Ah, that. He scratched the back of his neck. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Her brow puckered. “I hope your visitor didn’t return.”
“Nope.” Thank goodness. How embarrassing had that moment before been? And, conscious that people talked, and he hadn’t exactly given off good vibes before, he’d decided he needed to make an effort and appear less wussy than that impression had certainly given .
“Good.”
He yawned. Rubbed his face with his hand. “Do you get many critters around here?”
“This is the country. Critters are part of the deal.”
His lip curled. “That’s why I like the city.”
“Each to their own.” She sipped her coffee, her gaze straying to where the cook watched them.
He nodded to her, but it was the cowgirl wannabe’s calmness that rankled him. Made him want to puncture it. “I hope the accommodation will improve. That trailer was barely habitable.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he challenged.
“Whoa. You need to calm down. You’re acting like a diva.”
“I’m not a diva,” he snapped.
Her mouth curved.
“I’m not!”
Wait—was she chuckling now? Was this no-name chick actually laughing at him? Who on earth did she think she was? “I don’t know who you think you are, but your attitude is definitely not appreciated right now.”
“Right back atcha, mister.”
Mister? Did she seriously not recognize him? Wow.
He turned, poured himself a cup of joe, hating how early starts made him snarly and less able to shrug off the echo of his dad’s opinion. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t a diva. He just needed caffeine, stat. Enough to drown the echoes of the past.
By now some of the crew were wandering in, and he was forced to exchange greetings, to pretend he loved getting up with the sun. The coffee was good, made the synapses work in his brain, so he might get a redemption round after the horrific start.
He glanced back at the cowgirl. Her lips tilted for a second as she eyed him over her cup, then she nodded, her hat slipping slightly.
Honestly, what was the deal with her cowboy hat? His gaze trickled down her attire, to her collared long-sleeved pink shirt, jeans and boots, like an advertisement for Wranglers. Wasn’t she just a production assistant? Why did she dress like she thought she was Annie Oakley?
“You know your shirt is on inside out?” the cook said to him.
Harrison peered down, pulled out the reverse image. Man. So it was. He glanced up quickly, caught Miss Cassie smooth away a smile. Wait—had it been inside out earlier too? This day was going from bad to worse.
Still, this was something he could fix now. He tugged off his shirt, heard a wolf whistle from the cook, and caught a glimpse of Miss Cassie’s wide eyes before she pivoted away. Aww. Was she shy? He was half tempted to brazen it out and give her a good eyeful of his pecs, then realized it had been a long time since he’d met a woman who averted her eyes. Which was actually not a bad thing. He didn’t want to come across as a tool, even though it was probably too late for that. Especially with that particular move.
“Am I late for the party?” One of his female co-stars asked, smirking as she entered the room.
“I’ll leave you all to it,” Cowgirl Cassie mumbled, her cheeks still pink as she hurried away.
He watched her exit, feeling ten shades of fool, when a cough swung his attention back to the actress. He frowned. What was her—?
“You can’t remember my name, can you, Harrison?”
He winced. How he loved it when someone called him out on that while proving they remembered his. “I’m sorry. There was a lot going on yesterday.”
“Dana.”
“Hey.”
Dana waggled her eyebrows. She had to be about his age. “So, can we expect breakfast and a show each morning?”
He coughed. “No.”
She laughed, and a second later Annie joined in, leaving him feeling even more foolish than before. Good thing the cowgirl wasn’t still here.
He shuffled to the coffee cart, tempted to stomp, but figured that wasn’t about to win him any favors, either. Then he mumbled a goodbye and hurried out the door.
Outside, the air held a heavy quality, like the weight of dew. He usually preferred never to see this time of day, and in his life had been blessed with only a handful of necessary pre-dawn arrivals on set. But here, there was something about the light, the way it appeared to hold new promise, that meant maybe he’d been missing a thing or two. And maybe having a mouse wake him from his slumber wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened.
He moved to the fence, then glanced along the wooden rail and recognized the blonde-brown braid hanging under the white hat. Then cringed. It was bad enough to have proved his complete wimpishness this morning, squealing like a little kid over a stupid mouse. It was quite enough to then follow up that routine with his failure of a shirtless moment. Clearly, she hadn’t liked what she’d seen. Either time. He was half tempted to apologize—obviously they’d gotten off on the wrong foot—but something held him back. Pride, probably. It was a good thing she was only a lowly production assistant and not someone with any real clout. Imagine if she was connected to Mal.
Still, the thought she wasn’t into ogling him, her manner in complete contrast to the two women inside, and Marcia before them, intrigued him. Miss Cassie certainly didn’t lack confidence or courage, judging from the slammed door of yesterday. And, now he thought about it, he actually could kind of understand why a woman would act in that way. He must’ve looked a little suspect, hiding in the shadows like a criminal. So, yeah, okay, respect for standing up for herself instead of being like his mom. And it wasn’t her fault he’d been late. So her actions were perhaps justified, and maybe he did owe her an apology after all. Because she clearly thought him weird, and while he was definitely not your average dude, and originating from Portland he’d always happily own a little weird, he didn’t want her thinking him as more off than merely slightly odd.
He glanced back at her, and she shifted, almost like she’d been watching him too but hadn’t wanted to be seen doing so.
He swallowed the rest of his coffee then moved closer, employing stealth ninja moves that might’ve once made an appearance on a kids’ TV show a million years ago, back when he’d been green and looking for his break and willing to dress in cringy costumes on a show he now sure hoped nobody would ever see.
She didn’t move, her gaze fixed on the sunrise, as if lost in its beauty, one arm loosely over the wooden paling as he crept closer. Then he cleared his throat.
And she yelped and spun around, her coffee flying from her cup and landing on his chest.
“Ahh!”
She jumped back, one hand over her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “I’m so sorry!”
He peeled his t-shirt away from his skin with a wince, thankful her coffee had cooled and was only tepid in temperature.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“I’ll survive.” Although this top wouldn’t, and would likely never be white again. Which was a shame, as it fitted really well, and he’d picked it up on a trip to Mexico so it wasn’t exactly easy to re-purchase. Still, he couldn’t blame her for her reaction. At least she hadn’t bashed him with a hunk of wood like she had with the door last time. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you.” Wait, said like that, just made him sound like a stalker. “I mean—”
“So why did you?” She balanced her mug on top of the wooden fencepole and faced him.
Good question. How to explain he didn’t want to interrupt her moment of peace? “I, uh, didn’t want to disturb you?”
“And look how well that turned out.”
Hmm. In his career, he hadn’t come across too many production assistants so skilled in the sarcasm department. Weren’t they supposed to be nice to the cast?
She fisted her hips, her chin tilting. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I don’t appreciate men skulking around, sneaking up on people or hiding. That just makes you look strange. Normal people don’t do that.”
“Normal is overrated.” And no actors he knew could ever lay claim to that. Creatives couldn’t be boxed into whatever counted as “normal” these days.
She blew out a breath, and looked away at the horizon.
From this distance, he could appreciate how the sun gilded her hair, carving her silhouette in bronze and shadows.
She faced him. “I think it’s best if you stay away from me.”
Wow. Really? He shoved his hands in his pockets. Jerked his chin. “Probably safest for me. Who knows what you’ll do next time?”
“Me? I’m not the one acting weird. That’s all you.”
He had no comeback. Except, “Some people obviously bring it out of me.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he could almost see the steam pouring from her ears. Then she surprised him by thrusting out her hand.
He eyed it. This felt like a trick, something else with the potential to go wrong. “What?”
“You and me.”
His heart stuttered. No way in Hades, lady. “You want a truce?”
“Get real. I want you to promise to leave me alone, and I’ll do the same.”
“Now that’s a promise I can keep,” he muttered. Except, “Don’t you work here?”
“Yes, but don’t let that stop you.”
“Fine, then.” He grasped her hand. Felt a strange warm current zip up his arm from their clasped palms. So he dropped it. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Not with this she-devil of a woman. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to go change this shirt you ruined.”
Her face softened for a moment. “I hope you didn’t get burned. It was an accident.”
He knew that, but it still didn’t stop his mouth from projectile-vomiting more snark. “Sure it was.”
“It was!”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll live. Probably.”
Her lips pressed together.
He bit back his amusement at her obvious frustration. “See you around, Miss Cassie.”
“Not if I can help it,” she muttered, then pivoted on her booted heel and walked away.
The restof his day passed in breakfast, costume fittings, blocking scenes, running lines. Mal had promised they’d start filming tomorrow, and his character’s role meant he’d be in most of the filming. It’d stay that way over the first few weeks, as much of the interest would be in the new character and the new dynamics that would have to be established, especially with poor grieving widow Abigail, the character played by Ainsley. His introduction into the series would involve literally charging into town on a white horse—a sign as old as the hills that he was one of the good guys. But fortunately, that opening scene of the first episode wouldn’t be filmed for a few more weeks, which allowed for more of the interpersonal dialogue between himself and Ainsley.
As they ran lines, he was once again struck by what a professional Ainsley was. She knew her lines already while he was still struggling.
“Put it down to an early start,” he mumbled, when he’d fluffed his line for the fifth time.
“I heard you were up at the crack of dawn.”
He yawned as if her words reminded his brain what had happened this morning. “Not by choice.”
“Not an early bird, huh?”
“Nope.” Unlike a certain woman who definitely preferred that time of day. What was wrong with her? At least she’d kept her promise and he’d had nothing more to do with her today. He’d seen her in the distance once, but she was doing a great job of steering clear of him while he did the same.
Regret chased him. He didn’t want to be someone people chose to avoid. He didn’t want to be like his dad in any way shape or form. Hence no drinking. No mooching off others. No hitting a woman or kid. The fact he might’ve inherited the worst of both his mom and dad’s traits stung. He wasn’t like that. He’d do anything to prove them wrong.
He finally managed to get his lines right, and Mal soon pronounced himself satisfied, then they were released for the day. He was sorely tempted to snatch a few minutes sleep, but figured that’d probably mess with his sleep cycles later, so he forced himself to stay awake through dinner and an hour of post-meal conversation. But his early start soon had him done for, and he made his excuses, showered, and went to his trailer.
He hoped Maxine had dealt with the mouse, and the trailer had been deep-cleaned as promised. It looked tidier and certainly smelled better, but who knew if that had actually done the job? He needed to get to sleep. Stat. And a full night’s sleep at that. He couldn’t afford another day feeling like his brain cells were operating through sludge.
After staggering to his bed, and checking the linens thoroughly—everything smelled fresh, as Maxine had promised—he got in, half wondering if he should have put on shorts and a t-shirt as well, just in case another early morning interruption occurred. No way did he want a repeat of this morning, and end up embarrassing anyone—or himself—with his night wear or lack thereof. At least he’d been wearing boxers.
He plugged in his phone, put it aside, then switched off the light. The phone’s charging mode sent a thin spear of orange light through the dark.
For some reason it made him think of that moment early this morning when the sun’s glow on the horizon had stolen through his embarrassment, reminding him not all was pain and trouble. And while today had held its share of highs and lows, tomorrow was always a new day.
He closed his eyes. Preferably, it would be a day without any further embarrassing moments with the wannabe cowgirl.