by B. J Daniels
One of the horses in the team started for no apparent reason, rearing up, then taking off. Jud saw Faith grab for the reins from where she was sitting on the wagon’s seat as the horses panicked and bolted.
Jud leaped on his horse and went racing after her. He could see the film crew scrambling to get out of the way as the wagon careened toward them.
Faith’s bonnet blew off, her long blond hair coming loose and blowing back in a wave. She was struggling to get control of the team—and to still stay on the wagon as it rattled across the rough terrain.
Jud rode hard after her. The wagon hit a bump and Faith went airborne for a moment before coming down again half on the seat. She regained her balance but lost one of the reins. The team ran flat out, even more spooked with one of the reins dragging now.
Gaining on the wagon, Jud rode up along the right side. He’d performed this stunt a dozen times—just not at this speed. Nor out in the middle of the prairie without a fail-safe.
“Faith!”
She nodded and slid across the wagon seat toward him. Her blue eyes were wide with fear, but she did as she would have in the actual scene—only at a much faster speed and through the bumpy prairie.
Ahead he could see an outcropping of rocks. The team of horses was headed right for it. Jud knew he’d get only one chance to do this before the team and wagon reached the rocks.
He reached for Faith.
* * *
CHANTAL LEE WATCHED the whole thing from in front of her trailer. She would have assumed that Zander had moved up the stunt. Except there were no cameras rolling.
With horror, she realized that the team of horses had run away for real. This was no movie stunt. And if she hadn’t refused to shoot that part today, she would have been on that wagon.
She covered her mouth with her hand as she watched the scene unfold. Just like in the movies—Jud riding to save the cowgirl.
Only this was real.
Chantal heard others join her, a crowd forming around her and cries of horror as Jud reached for the new stuntwoman—an amateur who was about to get killed.
“He’s got her!” someone cried.
Chantal blinked, not believing what she’d just seen. The new stuntwoman—what was her name? She’d been told her name this morning, but she hadn’t been paying attention. Anyway, she’d made the jump to the back of Jud’s horse just before the team veered away from the pile of rocks.
The wagon didn’t make the ninety-degree turn, and flipped over, crashing into the rocks, boards splintering and wheels flying as the fail-safe mechanism released the team from the wagon. The team slowed and finally stopped.
Chantal stared at the carnage. “I could have been on that wagon. I was supposed to be on that wagon.” She glanced across the camp and saw Brooke Keith give her a short nod, a smile on the stuntwoman’s face.
Chantal shuddered as she remembered the rag doll she’d found on her bed. Brooke had sworn she hadn’t done it. But what if she had? What if it hadn’t been a prank, but a warning?
“If you’d been on that wagon, you’d be dead right now,” one of the crew said.
“He’s right,” another said. “If that stuntwoman hadn’t known what to do, she’d be in those rocks with her head split open.”
“Good thing you were too sick to work,” Nancy Davis said.
Chantal hadn’t seen the assistant director join them. She heard Nancy’s snide tone, but ignored it as Brooke joined them.
“Jud’s the one who saved the day, again,” Chantal said for Brooke’s benefit. “He’s the one who killed the rattlesnake that bit you. What would we do without him?”
“Come on, everyone. Let’s get back to work,” Nancy ordered, shooting a look at Chantal, which she ignored.
The moment everyone else left, Brooke grabbed her arm. “Leave Jud alone, Chantal. I’m warning you.”
Chantal jerked her arm free. “You left me that doll.”
“It was just a joke.”
“Just like that runaway team of horses?”
Brooke shook her head. “I had nothing to do with that. It was just an accident.”
“Like your snakebite,” Chantal said.
* * *
AS FAITH SLIPPED off the back of the horse, Jud swung down and pulled her to him. She wasn’t sure her legs would have held her without his strong arms around her. She looked up into his handsome face, never so glad to see anyone in her whole life.
He held her longer than necessary, but she was glad of it. He seemed to be as relieved as she was.
When he finally let her go, she could see the fear still in his eyes. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
She nodded. “I thought I was a goner.” She was safe, standing on solid ground. So why did being this close to Jud make her feel as if the earth might crumble under her at any moment?
“Did you see what spooked the horses?” he asked.
She shook her head. “There was a thunk, as if a rock hit the side of the wagon,” she said, frowning as she tried to remember. “It happened so fast, I can’t be sure.”
“A rock. Did you see where it came from?”
She thought it an odd question. “No.” Was he saying he thought someone might have thrown the rock? And why was he acting as if this wasn’t the first accident on the set?
Whatever it had been, the scene was straight out of the movies, with Jud saving her. The realization of just how close a call it had been was starting to settle in. She hugged herself to still the trembling. “You saved my life. Thank you.”
He looked ill at ease. “I was just doing my job.”
“Too bad they didn’t get it on film,” she said, making him smile. She could see that he was upset.
“You did great.”
“I just did what you showed me to do.” That, and she’d studied enough of the stunts on old movies.
He glanced toward the set. One of the SUVs was headed in their direction. He walked over to pick up his horse’s reins.
His gaze met hers and held it before they were descended on by the others from the set. “I hope I haven’t gotten you into something dangerous,” he said quietly.
She frowned as he swung up onto his horse. What did he mean? Of course stunt work was dangerous sometimes.
But she had the feeling he was talking about something else, as if he thought the runaway team hadn’t been an accident.
Chapter Six
Jud heard someone come up behind him as he headed for his trailer, but he paid no attention. He was still shaken by what had happened. Faith Bailey was lucky to be alive.
“Saved another one, huh?” said an angry-sounding male voice behind him.
Jud turned to find Nevada Wells, face flushed, eyes bulging, his breathing coming hard and fast. Nevada was Hollywood handsome complete with a cleft in his chin, but apparently just the altitude left the man winded.
“I’ve got your number,” the leading man said, poking a finger into Jud’s chest. “If you think I don’t know what you’re up to, I do. The rest of these people, they’re too stupid to see, but not me.” His breath smelled of alcohol and he looked as if he hadn’t gotten much sleep lately.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jud asked impatiently. There was nothing about Nevada Wells he liked. The man had gotten this far on looks, not talent, and was known for being a wuss as well as a whiner.
“The snake, now the runaway wagon. Lucky you just happened to be there both times.”
“You were there, as well,” Jud said pointedly, but Nevada clearly wasn’t listening.
“You like playing hero.”
Jud laughed. “You’re the one who plays hero.”
Nevada narrowed his eyes. “What do you think Erik Zander would say if I told him I know who’s behind the accidents on the set?”
“He�
�d say you were crazy as well as drunk. Don’t be ludicrous. What would I have to gain by doing something so malicious?”
“I’ve been asking myself that.”
“Let me know when you come up with an answer,” Jud said and walked off.
* * *
AFTER A HOT shower and a change into jeans, shirt and boots, Faith left her trailer to find her sister. She had tried Eve’s cell phone but had gotten voice mail. Eve hadn’t planned to come out to the shoot until afternoon, when Faith had told her she’d be doing her first stunt. A small fib.
Faith suspected her sister had heard about the accident, given the way news traveled in the county. So she wasn’t surprised to see Eve among the locals who came out to watch moviemaking from the sidelines.
A rope barrier had been erected to keep back what had been until now only a small crowd. Several crew members were now positioned nearby in case someone tried to get on the set during shooting.
Eve Bailey was standing with some other local residents Faith recognized. From her sister’s expression, Faith could see that Eve was upset. No doubt she’d been told that Faith was all right, but Eve would have to see for herself, and the crew wasn’t about to let her through to find her sister.
As she drew near, Faith noticed a woman standing off to the side away from the locals. What caught Faith’s attention was the way the woman was dressed. She wore a pale green dress and low heels, her hair pulled up in a chignon.
That alone made her stand out since everyone else was dressed in jeans and boots. While Faith would swear she’d never seen the woman before, something about her seemed familiar. She had wide-set dark eyes and dark hair streaked with gray. She wore a scarf around her neck, tied loosely, that picked up the green in the dress.
Something else odd: she didn’t seem that interested in what was happening on the set. Instead, she was looking down the rope line, her gaze on the locals.
Faith worked her way around the back of the small crowd, not wanting to block anyone’s view of the scene being shot. When she touched her sister’s shoulder, Eve turned and, seeing her, dragged her into a tight hug without a word.
“I’m fine,” Faith said as others she knew crowded around her, wanting to hear the gory details. “It was just like the real stunt and worked exactly the same,” she said, stretching the truth.
When she looked up, she saw the woman in green watching them. Caught, the woman hurriedly glanced away. When Faith looked again, the woman was headed for an SUV with Billings plates.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Eve asked, drawing Faith’s attention back.
Faith nodded, looking into her sister’s heart-shaped face framed by her long black hair, the eyes so dark they were almost black, and felt a jolt as she saw the resemblance between the older woman who’d just left in the SUV—and her sister.
* * *
MARY ELLEN DROVE to the top of the hill and had to pull over and get herself under control before continuing back to Whitehorse.
At breakfast this morning at the Great Northern, she’d heard the locals talking about the film and Faith Bailey.
The name Bailey had caught her attention. She’d listened as the group of women, who were apparently from some group called the Whitehorse Sewing Circle, discussed an accident on the set this morning. Apparently Eve Bailey was on her way out there, even though early reports were that her younger sister Faith was fine.
“What’s that girl doing out there performing stunts anyway?” one of the older women demanded.
“She’s a Bailey. You know how wild those girls always were,” another one said.
“Lila raised them like boys. That was the problem.”
“Raised ’em more like wolves, if you ask me.” Everyone laughed. “It’s no surprise the way that youngest one is turning out.”
The women finished their breakfasts and decided to drive out to the set to see just what that youngest Bailey girl was up to before going back to Old Town Whitehorse to finish a couple of baby quilts they were all working on for the Cavanaugh girls.
Mary Ellen had pushed her half-finished breakfast away and followed, hoping they were right about Eve Bailey being on this movie set. What would it hurt to see the woman? she’d thought. She’d come this far.
And she had seen her. Mary Ellen would have recognized Eve anywhere. The dark hair, those coal-black eyes so much like her own and that face. It was like looking into a photograph taken thirty-some years before.
Her heart was still pounding. She felt sick to her stomach. She wished she’d never come here. Never laid eyes on Eve Bailey Jackson. Never seen the way the sisters had hugged so tightly and realized how much she’d missed the past thirty-four years.
Mary Ellen wiped at her tears and checked her watch. If she hurried back to the motel and packed up she might be able to catch an early flight out.
If she stayed in Whitehorse any longer, she feared what she might do. As she drove away from the movie set, she barely noticed the bank of dark clouds over the Little Rockies.
* * *
THE SKY DARKENED to the west, the wind kicking up dust devils as it swept down the river and through the badlands of the Missouri Breaks. A lightning bolt tore through the clouds in the distance, and the rumble of thunder echoed over the set.
Zander cursed. Not even the weather would cooperate. He ran a hand through his hair and scowled at the sky. The whole day had gone this way, beginning with the team of horses taking off the way they had and destroying the wagon.
It was a wonder Faith Bailey hadn’t gotten killed. She would have if it hadn’t been for Jud Corbett. Hiring him was the best thing Zander had done. Not that it had been his choice. He’d had no choice. And that’s what worried him now.
Along with the script and the blackmail note, he’d found instructions on who to cast, what stunt people to use, what crew members. Thinking it was some crackpot, he’d tossed the script and the blackmail note into the garbage.
A day later, when the second blackmail note had arrived with a copy of a very incriminating photograph taken the night of the party at his Malibu beach house—a night that had ended with crime-scene tape and a coroner’s van—he’d dug the script out of the garbage and read it.
He’d quickly been convinced that making a Western thriller near Whitehorse, Montana was in his best interests.
Now as he watched the clouds moving fast up the river, he wondered if he’d not only been set up—but also set up to fail. Zander laughed at his own foolishness. Even blackmailed, a part of him believed the person doing this was just someone who was desperate to get his film made.
He’d been able to fool himself—until Keyes Hasting had showed up this morning at his trailer and had mentioned, almost as an offhand remark, that he was in mourning. His godchild, he said, had recently died.
“I’m sorry,” Zander had said automatically, since what else was there to say?
“She was a beautiful woman—talented, headstrong and determined, probably too determined, but now we will never know what she might have accomplished in her life,” Hasting said.
There was an edge to his voice that should have put Zander on alert. But he was too busy wondering why Hasting had come to pick up on it.
“You knew her.”
Zander had been fiddling with the coffeemaker, but at those words, he stopped and turned, frowning slightly. “Your godchild?”
“That was who we were talking about, wasn’t it?” the old man snapped irritably.
Zander had finally picked up on that scalpel-edge tone of Hasting’s. “I knew her?” His heart boomed in his chest. Had it been some young, starry-eyed actress he’d rejected for a film? Or fired? Or far worse, slept with? He had barely heard Hasting’s next words because he’d been breathing so hard, his pulse like a barreling freight train.
“You knew her well. Very well. Her name was
Camille Rush.”
Looking back, Zander could now marvel at how well he’d taken the news that this old mob-connected gangster’s godchild was the young starlet Zander had impregnated and refused to marry. The same starlet who’d been found in his hot tub dead and full of drugs.
“Keyes,” he’d said, actually using the old man’s first name. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea Camille was your godchild. I regret that I didn’t realize she was in trouble,” he’d said in his defense, his voice filled with true emotion—fear, though, more than true remorse. “But how could I know that she would take her own life?”
Hasting had scowled at him, then laughed. “We both know Camille was too self-centered to ever take her own life.”
Zander thought of the way the man had then walked away, the threat hanging in the air like the dark clouds now gathering.
That’s when he knew for certain. This film. Keyes Hasting was the one behind it and the blackmail. The question that had tormented Zander then and now, though, was still why? Some kind of warped revenge? Hasting could have had him killed and been done with it. Why go to all this trouble?
True, the way the film was going, this would be a much slower, more painful death, Zander thought. This film wasn’t a lifesaving limb for a drowning man. Death at Lost Creek was no doubt the nail in his coffin.
Keyes Hasting planned to destroy his career somehow with this film. Or was there more to it?
One thing was clear. Hasting was his mortal enemy. But what could Zander do? Nothing. Hasting had him right where he wanted him.
Zander shivered, less from the dropping temperature than from his own dark thoughts. Whatever—this day was a wash, literally.
“Strike the set!” he called in disgust and headed toward his trailer. “Reschedule for tomorrow morning, weather permitting,” he told his mousy assistant director without giving Nancy a backward glance.
“Erik.”
He didn’t turn around. In fact, just the sound of Chantal’s voice made him want to run as far and fast as he could. He’d already had a run-in with Nevada before breakfast.
