Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
“Don’t look at the camera. Got it.” Doris nodded, her focus laser sharp as she listened to the instructions. “Then… where do we look?”
He pointed to a spot by the general store.
“Anywhere but the camera. You’re window shopping.
Talking about... I don’t know, flour prices.
A rider comes in. He calls out the sheriff.
You all look toward the commotion. Watching intently.
Gunfight breaks out. You scream. You take cover. Natural. Got it?”
“Got it.” Sylvie nodded, but for some reason, her face was as tense as if we were about to launch out of a plane again.
“Sounds easy,” Alice added, adjusting her brooch.
“Quick question.” I stepped forward and adjusted the weight of the twin Colts on my hips. “About the taking cover, I don’t think that’s what my character, Buck, would do.”
Toby blinked. “Who?”
“I’ve developed a character. Her name is Buckshot—Buck for short. She’s a woman who came up hard on the frontier, doesn’t talk much, seen things she can’t unsee—”
“Marge,” Alice said.
“Just let me finish.” I held up a hand, and Alice let out a long-suffering sigh. “She has a whole arc. Buck isn’t scared of gunshots. Buck has been in worse scrapes than a dusty little street duel, so when those shots go off, I’m thinking she’d actually draw her guns and—”
“You’re an extra,” Toby said. “You act scared. Like a regular person.”
“But Buck isn’t a regular person. She lost her husband in a bandit attack, fought off a wolf with a stick, had to make it on her own hunting down bounties and saving damsels from predators.
She’s seen some real gritty stuff. Stuff that would send you scurrying back to your momma’s womb.
Buck wouldn’t scream. Buck would just spit on the ground and evaluate the wind speed for a return shot.
” I smirked, rising on my heels and settling back down, spurs scraping the wood planks beneath me.
“And that return shot? She sure as hell wouldn’t miss. ”
Toby stared at me, his radio crackling with static. “There is no Buck. You are Townswoman Number Fourteen. You scream. You duck. You don’t spit. Just freaking do what you’re asked or I’m putting you in the livery stable with the manure.”
I grumbled, stepping back into line. “No vision. This kid has zero artistic vision.”
“Marge.” Alice leveled me with a glare. “No Buck. Okay? Because if Buck surfaces during this shot, she’s gonna meet Dolly, my character. And Dolly is going to stab Buck through the side of the head and then kick her dead corpse before hitting that saloon for a drink.”
My mouth opened to argue back, but then it broke into a smile. “Damn. I like Dolly!”
“Marge, please,” Sylvie whispered, her face the color of unbaked dough. “Don’t cause problems. I’m nervous already. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Just be scared. You’re scared. Please.” Toby looked at me, those bloodshot eyes begging me to follow his instructions.
I scowled, then sighed. “Fine. Scared. I can do scared.”
None of them looked convinced. I didn’t take it personally.
Toby positioned us on the boardwalk in front of the general store, gave me a stern stare, then left to manage a hundred other things.
We had a clear view straight down the main street, the camera rig set up on its dolly track to our left, the hitching posts and their horses directly across from us.
“This is so cool!” Doris practically squealed. “Can you believe we’re about to be in a movie? And one with Jackson Harlow and Colt Stirling? This is amazing! Axel is going to pass out when I tell him.”
Sylvie stared at the camera nearest us. “Why is that camera so big? Is that normal? Are they supposed to be this big?”
“The bigger the better.” Alice straightened her collar. “I want to be very visible in this scene. Don’t want to have to squint to find myself, you know?”
Sylvie’s face drained of even more color.
“You okay, Sylvie? You don’t look so good.” Doris pressed a hand to Sylvie’s forehead.
“I… Why am I suddenly so nervous? I really feel like I may puke.”
“Just a little stage fright,” Alice answered. “Normal for the newbies. You’ll be fine. Just breathe.”
Sylvie took several deep breaths, but her face didn’t regain its color and her eyes resembled Bambi’s mom’s right before the gunshot.
“Places!” someone yelled. “Rolling! And... ACTION!”
The dusty street went silent. The thunder of hooves came first—building fast from the far end of the street, and then Jackson Harlow astride a big bay horse exploded into the town square before us, dirt flying as he hauled his horse to a stop.
Even knowing it was a movie, my heart kicked up because it looked real.
It looked exactly like every Western I’d ever loved.
Before Jackson could open his mouth to yell for the sheriff, Doris bolted out from the sidewalk.
“Stop! Stop right now!” she shrieked.
“Doris!” I called, and started after her.
“CUT!” someone yelled.
Doris ignored all the shouts from crew members as she marched up to the horse while we three widows stared, dumbfounded.
“What the hell is she doing?” Sylvie whispered.
“Ruining my life,” Alice deadpanned.
“Townswoman Number Thirteen! What the hell are you doing!” Toby came tearing toward her, dust from the street kicking up behind him. “Get away from Jackson Harlow! NOW!”
Doris ignored him, pointing at the horse’s head.
“I—I’m so sorry I’m ruining the shot. I’m so terribly sorry.
But that horse’s tongue is over the bit, and the bit is on backward.
He’s been gaping his whole mouth this entire time and he’s in pain, and I just can’t stand by and watch an animal in pain—”
Toby’s face remained the color of the tomatoes in the crate beside me. “You can’t just run onto the set!”
“I know I shouldn’t have, and I am deeply, deeply sorry, but I work on a dude ranch, and I know horses, and that animal—”
“Someone get her off my set!” the director barked.
I winced. Sylvie made a strangled sound beside me.
Alice lowered her head and sighed. “Well, there goes my moment on the silver screen. We’re getting kicked out.”
A man dressed in a modern-day cowboy outfit stepped through the crew and moved toward the horse, his frown deepening as he approached. When he got to the horse’s head and looked at the bit, he went very still.
He turned to the woman behind him, a little brunette who looked like his assistant. “Who tacked up this horse?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, Mr. Paxton.”
He pointed to the horse’s bit. “She’s right. This bit is on backward and he’s got his tongue over it. I want to know who tacked up this horse. Now.”
She spun and took off running.
Mr. Paxton looked at Jackson. “Sorry, sir. But I need you to dismount so I can fix the bridle.”
Jackson hopped off and stepped to the side as Mr. Paxton slipped the bridle off the horse’s head. Even I could see the relief on the horse’s face the moment the bit came free.
“I’m really sorry I ruined the scene, sir, but you see, I live part of the year on a dude ranch, and I know bridles and bits. And this one was on backward and that horse was in pain.”
He exhaled slowly. “Good catch. Real good catch.” He stroked the horse’s neck and turned to Doris. “I’m Angus. Wrangler of the animals on this set and many others. And I’ll have the job of whatever idiot tacked up Betty here. Poor girl. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
With a few clicks of the buckles, he flipped the bit around on the leather headstall. Then he slowly slipped the bit back into Betty’s mouth. This time, she looked quite content while he fastened the throat latch.
“There, girl. That better?”
He patted her neck, and she cocked a leg like she could finally relax.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Paxton. I didn’t know the bit was on backward. I don’t know enough about horses to know she was in pain,” Jackson said as he approached Doris and Angus.
“Oh my God,” Alice whispered. “Look! Doris is standing less than a foot away from Jackson Harlow!”
“Would you look at that.” I grinned.
Jackson turned to Doris. “And you.”
Sylvie sucked in a breath beside me as Doris stared at Jackson, her eyes so wide I worried they’d be caked with dust when she finally blinked again.
“Thank you. I love horses even though I don’t know a damn thing about them.
I’m glad you were brave enough to say something.
Betty here is a good girl. She’s been taking care of me the better part of the month.
Not only did you save her from the pain she was in, you saved us from smart horse people like yourself tearing us apart in reviews.
Could have been a real nightmare. You have my gratitude. What’s your name?”
Doris’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“It’s Doris!” I called to him.
“Well, thank you, Doris.” He smiled, touched her shoulder in a gentle gesture, then swung back up on Betty, giving her a pat before spinning her away.
“Ma’am.” Mr. Paxton tipped his hat and walked away after him.
Toby pursed his lips, no doubt still fuming she’d broken the scene, but even he couldn’t argue with the movie star. “Just… go back to the boardwalk. Go.”
He waved his hands at her, and Doris floated back toward us, her eyes alight with wonder as she arrived.
“Doris! You were incredible!” Sylvie bumped her with a hip.
“Jackson Harlow thanked me,” Doris whispered.
I patted her on the back. “You did good.”
“He touched my shoulder,” she breathed.
“Think they’ll let us keep the dresses? Jackson Harlow touched that dress!” Sylvie practically squealed.
Toby’s voice cut through the set. “Reset! Background, find your marks! We go again in sixty!”
We lined back up on the boardwalk, and I looked at Sylvie.
She’d been fine during the Doris situation—distracted, like the rest of us. But now, from the moment Toby called reset, all the color had drained from her face again. She was staring at the camera rig the way small animals stared at predators.
I leaned over. “Sylvie.”
“I’m fine,” she said. Too fast.
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’m fine.”
“Quiet on set!”
“Aaaaand—action!”