2. Sawyer
TWO
Sawyer
I’d had twenty minutes with Bishop before they called the first break, and twenty minutes was enough to know he was going to be fine.
What I was really concerned about was Daniela.
Not her nerve—if anything, that was the problem.
I knew even from a few brief encounters at Gage’s wedding, on set before that, and the occasional family gathering, that Daniela wasn’t afraid of anything.
She took on challenges like she was checking them off her to-do list. Millie had even told me once that Daniela got hurt doing a fall stunt a few years back because she’d refused to use a double.
Which meant she was going to walk right up to this horse and tell me she was fine, and I was going to have to convince her that fine isn’t good enough.
Bishop stood quiet while I ran my hand down his near foreleg. He was a twelve-year-old bay gelding, three other productions under his belt. He knew this job better than half the crew, and whatever happened in the next twenty minutes, he wasn’t going to be the problem.
Bishop had managed dozens of stunts just like this one: a mounted kidnapping.
They were pretty standard, a classic tradition at this point.
In the stunt, the villain’s man rides hard through the frame, scoops the girl, and she goes limp across the saddle while Bishop keeps his stride.
It was brutal looking on camera, but relatively safe—especially if the horse did its job, which was to keep its stride and not let anything spook him.
Yeah. Bishop would be fine.
The risk was that Daniela wouldn’t go limp like she was supposed to…that she might kick on instinct. Bishop might spook in that situation, then she could go hurtling down on the other side, get trampled?—
Fuck me. Couldn’t think about that.
And I knew that with anyone else, I would feel fine. I would do my job, make the stunt happen, move on.
But I couldn’t let Millie’s best friend get hurt.
The stunt coordinator, a weathered guy named Dale who I'd worked with twice before, had walked me through the shot that morning.
The villain—a professional named Rick Mercer, stunt guy turned actor, someone who'd done this a hundred times—would come in from the left at a canter.
Daniela's job was to be standing in the right mark, let herself get grabbed around the waist, and go completely dead weight as she came up and over.
Bishop would feel her land and keep moving.
Dale's guy would control her position with one arm while managing the reins with the other.
Twenty feet of camera time. Maybe three seconds of actual action.
Three seconds where if she tensed up wrong she could spook Bishop, throw off Dale's rider, and hit the ground hard enough to end her shoot before it started.
I was waiting in the paddock when I saw Daniela coming across the dusty landscape, hat in hand.
She looked authentic—just right for the part, her long dark hair in an intentionally messy braid, her eyes sharp even in the raging heat.
The corset…the corset was doing a lot. Doing things that weren’t going to help me get this job done.
She waved, and it broke the spell enough for me to wave back.
“Hey,” she said as she came closer. Bishop’s eyes flicked up toward her, but he didn’t react otherwise; he was good like that. “He’s beautiful.”
“He’s a professional.” I held out my hand for her hat and she gave it to me. I adjusted the brim, then handed it back. “The scene is three seconds of camera time. You’re going to feel like it’s longer.”
She put the hat on. "Okay."
"Dale's rider comes in from your left. You don't look at him until he's almost on you—that's Ellis's blocking, not mine. When he grabs you, I need you to do one thing."
"Go limp."
I frowned. “You already talk through this with Dale?”
She shook her head. “I did some research this morning between memorizing lines and background shots. I’ve been practicing in my trailer.”
"Practicing," I repeated.
"Mhm."
I looked at her for a second. "How do you practice going limp in a trailer."
She pressed her lips together like she was deciding whether to tell me. "I threw myself onto the bed a few times."
I stared at her.
"From standing," she added. "Just—let myself fall. Practiced not catching myself."
I cocked an eyebrow. "And how'd that go?”
"I have a bruise on my hip but I think I've got the concept down."
"The concept," I said.
"Sawyer." She crossed her arms. "I'm a professional."
"I know you are." I stepped closer. "But there's a difference between falling onto a mattress and going dead weight over a moving horse while someone's got one arm around your waist and the other on the reins.
Your body doesn't know what's happening.
It's going to make decisions you didn't authorize. "
She considered this for a second. Then she uncrossed her arms, let her hands fall to her sides, and just—went.
Not a fall, exactly. More like every cable in her body got cut at once. Her shoulders dropped, her chin dipped, her knees softened, and if I hadn't been standing close enough to catch her she would have gone straight to the ground.
But my arm went around her waist before she could fall.
I caught her.
Her breath caught, and then she was looking up at me, red lips parted.
“You weren’t supposed to catch me,” she said.
I grinned. “Guess I’m hardwired to rescue damsels.”
She rolled her eyes. “Such a Holt.”
I set her back on her feet and let go.
Mostly.
My hand stayed at her waist for one second longer than it needed to, and she didn't step back, and then I made myself move.
"That was actually good," I said.
"I know."
"Don't get smug about it."
"I'm not smug." She was smug. "I'm confident. There's a difference."
Bishop exhaled loudly behind me. I turned to check him out of habit, which also gave me something to do that wasn't looking at her.
"We're going to do it again," I said. "With Bishop this time. I want you to feel his size before Dale's guy comes in at speed."
"Okay."
"You're going to stand at his shoulder and lean your weight into him. Just get comfortable with how solid he is."
She stepped up to Bishop without hesitation, which I appreciated, and put her hand flat on his neck. He accepted this with his usual indifference.
"Hi," she told him.
Bishop blinked.
"He's not much of a conversationalist," I said.
"Neither is Gage and Millie loves him." She stroked down his neck, easy, and Bishop's ear swiveled toward her. Traitor. "See? We're bonding."
"You're stalling."
"I'm warming up." She looked at me over her shoulder. "There's a difference."
I moved to stand at Bishop's head, one hand on his bridle. "Lean your weight into his shoulder. I want you to feel what happens when he shifts."
She leaned in. Bishop stayed solid, the way he always did.
"Now close your eyes," I said.
She looked at me.
"I need you to feel it, not watch it." I kept my voice even. Professional. "Close your eyes."
She closed them.
I clicked my tongue at Bishop. He shifted his weight, just slightly, the way a horse did when it adjusted its balance. Daniela swayed with it—caught herself—then made a small sound of frustration and deliberately let herself sway again.
"There," I said. "Don't fight it. Move with him."
"I wasn't fighting it."
"You caught yourself."
"Instinct."
"That's what I've been telling you."
She opened her eyes and looked at me. The sun was full on her face and she squinted against it and the makeup was starting to go slightly in the heat and she looked—she looked like herself. More than she had all morning.
"One more time," I said. "Then we walk through the full sequence."
I clicked my tongue. Bishop shifted. This time she swayed with him clean—no catch, no correction, just her body following his.
"Better," I said.
"I know." But she said it quieter this time. Less smug, more focused. Her hand was still flat on his neck and her eyes were still closed and she looked—settled. Like she'd found something.
"Okay," I said. "Let's walk it."
I moved her to the mark—a scrape in the dirt Dale had made that morning, fifteen feet out from where Bishop would cross. She stood on it and looked down at it and then looked up at me.
"Just like we practiced," I said. "Dale's guy comes in from your left. You hear him before you see him. Don't turn until you have to—Ellis wants your face front for as long as possible."
"I know my blocking."
"I know you do. I'm talking about your body, not your blocking." I positioned myself to her left, about ten feet back. "I'm going to walk it first, no horse. Just so you know what it feels like when someone comes in at that angle."
She nodded.
I came in at a walk, the way Dale's guy would at speed, and put my arm around her waist from behind. She went with it—turned into it slightly, let her weight shift.
"No," I said. "Don't turn into it. Let it take you."
"Instinct is to turn."
"I know. Don't."
We did it again. This time she kept her face forward and let my arm sweep her and went loose at the waist and I walked her through the motion—forward and up, the way the momentum of a cantering horse would carry her—and she went with it.
"Good," I said.
We were standing close. Closer than we'd started. Her hat had gone crooked again and I didn't fix it this time.
She looked up at me. "Again?"
"Again."
We ran it four more times. Each time she got cleaner—less instinct, more decision, her body learning the thing her brain had already understood. That was the thing about her. She didn't just hear instructions. She absorbed them.
By the fifth time I barely had to guide her at all.
"Alright," I said. "Bishop."
I brought him up to the mark and positioned him parallel to her, close enough that she could feel his heat. She didn't flinch.
"This time I'm going to walk him past you and grab you as we go," I said. "Same motion. Just with twelve hundred pounds involved."
"Comforting."
"You'll be fine." I swung up into the saddle. Looked down at her from there. "Eyes forward. Wait for it."
She turned forward. Squared her shoulders. Breathed out and let them drop.
I walked Bishop wide, gave him room to arc, and came in easy—the way you'd walk a green horse past something new. Bishop's stride was smooth and unhurried and I felt him settle into it, that good working rhythm he had.
I leaned out of the saddle as I came up on her left.
My arm went around her waist and I pulled.
She went perfectly limp—all of it, instant—and her weight came up and over and she landed across the saddle in front of me, her back against my chest, her hair loose and in my face and the smell of her cutting right through the heat and the horse smell and everything else.
In an instant, I had her draped across the saddle, ragdoll limp.
Bishop kept walking. Good boy.
"You good?" I managed.
"Mm." Her voice came out slightly breathless from the grab. "Yeah."
Bishop walked another twenty feet before I brought him to a stop.
She didn't move immediately. Neither did I.
I became aware that the arm I’d used to grab her was still around her waist. Still holding her. Tucked in where the corset met her skirt, where I could feel her breathing underneath…
"Okay," I said. "I'm going to help you down."
"Right." She put her hand on my forearm to brace herself. "Yeah."
I swung down first, ground reins loose, and put both hands at her waist. She slid down Bishop's shoulder and I took her weight until her boots hit the dirt, and then we were standing close again, my hands still on her, her hands finding my arms for balance.
She looked up at me.
The hat was gone again. Her braid had completely surrendered. She was smiling like crazy, like she’d just gotten off a rollercoaster.
She looked like herself. Completely, entirely herself.
"That's what it'll feel like," I said. My voice came out even. I was running out of things to be proud of. "Rick's going to be faster. More momentum. You'll feel it in your ribs when you land."
"Okay." She didn't step back. "I can handle that."
"I know you can."
She was still looking at me. Something in her face that I couldn't fully read, or didn't want to.
Then Dale's voice cut across the paddock. "Holt. Rick's ready when you are."
I let go of her waist.
Took a step back.
Looked over at Dale, and then at Rick Garza, who was sitting easy on his horse at the far end of the paddock—relaxed, professional, a man who did this for a living. Who was about to put his arm around Daniela's waist and pull her across his saddle and hold her there while the cameras rolled.
Three seconds of camera time.
I had absolutely no opinion about that.
"Give us two minutes," I called back.
I turned to Daniela. Straightened the brim of the hat I'd retrieved from the dirt and held it out.
"Last time," I said. "You remember everything?"
She took the hat. Put it on. Crooked, same as always.
"Go limp," she said. "Don't turn into it. Let it take me."
"And if something feels wrong?—"
"I tuck and roll and you sue the production company." She smiled. "I'm kidding. I call out and Bishop stops."
"Bishop stops," I confirmed. "Rick stops. Everything stops."
"I know." She held my gaze. "Sawyer. I've got it."
She did. That was the thing. She absolutely had it.
I stepped back and gave her the mark with a look, and she walked to it and squared up. I went to stand with Dale and told myself to watch the horse.
I watched her instead.