Heartland
Page 1
Praise for Davis Bunn’s Novels
“Heartland tells the story of a decent, upstanding cowboy, JayJay, who through an act of Providence finds himself in Hollywood as the lead actor in a successful TV series based on his life. JayJay in his innocence and virtue reveals the corruption, greed and other evils in the entertainment industry. JayJay helps each one of the characters, cast and crew to discover what’s good about themselves. Heartland is a fantastic read. It is hard to put down. Like the best in literature, it makes you laugh and cry, sometimes at the same time. While it uncovers the corruption in Hollywood, it also helps the reader understand his own failings and perhaps even to discover the solution.”
—Movieguide Magazine,
in granting Heartland its highest
rating ever for a book
“Heartland is T. Davis Bunn at his best! From the first page until the last I was captivated by the creatively-developed, fast-moving plot. Warmly enriched by believable characters and laced with timeless principles, reading this book was just pure pleasure! I heartily recommend it to all of us who love a good story, well told.”
—Anne Graham Lotz,
Bible teacher and award-winning,
best-selling author
“Readers beware: this is one you won’t put down until you’ve reached the final page. Davis Bunn has woven a plot so intriguing . . . so fascinating . . . so FUN . . . I can hardly say enough good things about it! Heartland is on my ‘you have to read this’ list I give to all my friends. It will find its way to yours, too.”
—Eva Marie Everson,
author of The Potluck Club Series
“He’s at his best in this absorbing . . . suspense thriller.”
—Publishers Weekly,
regarding Imposter
“I am amazed a guy who isn’t a long-time Baltimore cop wrote [Imposter] . . . Suspenseful, thrilling, action packed, and incredibly real.”
—Mike Hammel,
Senior Homicide Detective,
Baltimore Police Department
“[Imposter is] a sweeping crime drama of political ambition, personal corruption, and military intrigue, all rolled into a can’t-put-it-down read . . . a masterpiece.”
—Mark Mynheir,
former homicide detective and
author of Rolling Thunder
“[Imposter is] an absolute cracker of a suspense thriller. The story explodes off the page.”
—Hy Smith,
Senior Vice President, United
International Pictures
“The Lazarus Trap is a masterpiece. It will keep you on the edge of your seat from page one right through to when you reluctantly finish.”
—Eddie Bell,
former chairman and CEO,
HarperCollins UK
“Bunn has comfortably made the transition from evangelical to mainstream readers, and his popularity shows no sign of abating.”
—John Mort,
Booklist
Heartland
Other books by Davis Bunn
Novellas
Tidings of Comfort and Joy
The Quilt
The Book of Hours
International Thrillers
Elixir
The Lazarus Trap
Imposter
For a complete list of books by Davis Bunn,
please visit davisbunn.com
Heartland
Davis Bunn
Copyright © 2006 by Davis Bunn
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by WestBow Press, a division of Thomas Nelson, Inc.
WestBow Press books may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fundraising, or sales promotional use. For information, please email SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.
Scripture quotations are from the GOOD NEWS TRANSLATION, SECOND EDITION, Copyright © 1992 by American Bible Society. Used by permission. All rights reserved; and THE NEW KING JAMES VERSION®, copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc., Publishers.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bunn, T. Davis, 1952– Heartland / Davis Bunn.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-1-59554-203-8
ISBN-10: 1-59554-203-5
1. Accident victims—Fiction. 2. Television programs—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3552.U4718H43 2006
813'.54—dc22
2006022260
Printed in the United States of America
06 07 08 09 QW 6 5 4 3 2 1
This Book Is Dedicated To
Tony Collins
&
Ember Wilcock
Glad Tidings,
New Beginnings
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 1
JayJay aimed on setting the ranch in his rearview mirror two hours earlier, only his sister followed him from room to room while he packed his meager belongings. Clara, who had raised him after the floods swept their parents off in his tenth winter, had never been one for quarreling. But she did her best. “Think of everything we’ve been through to keep this ranch! Evil bankers, greedy oil barons, locusts, tornadoes, typhoid, hail, snakes, and now you’re going to just walk away?”
JayJay’s only response was to slip into his boots and stomp down on the heels to make them set right.
Clara pointed through the living room window, past the shed holding the pickup, back to where the cottonwoods tracked the creek leading off the stream. To the tombstones by the meadow’s border.
Clara’s voice rose an octave and a half. “You mean to tell me you can just walk away and leave all that behind?”
JayJay shouldered his canvas duffel and said, “I reckon so.”
; He couldn’t take their lone truck and leave Clara without a way to get to market, and his horse, Skye, was still lame. So JayJay hoofed it down to the highway and thumbed a ride to Simmons Gulch. There he waved down the bus for Los Angeles, the only city serviced by the only bus that still called on the only town he had ever known.
JayJay hesitated there on the first step of the bus and took a last look around. He was about to enter a world he’d never had any interest in before. Which of course was why his fiancée had dumped him for that feller who traveled the rodeo circuit riding wild bulls.
That recollection was painful enough to drive him into the bus.
Soon as he took a seat, the bus rumbled to life and pulled away. He tilted his hat down over his eyes and dozed off, dreaming of better days.
The grinding sound of the accident almost woke him. The bus jolted hard, and there was a flashing pain, and it was almost natural to stay asleep and let everything go . . .
“Peter?”
“Upstairs.”
Cynthia clambered up the steps to his attic office. It was a tough climb, as she was eight months pregnant with twins. “Why aren’t you getting dressed?”
“The script is due tomorrow and I’m still stuck on the same scene.”
“Poor Peter.” His wife had changed out of her current favorite T-shirt, which read “frontloader.” Instead she wore a frock that billowed like a navy-blue sail. “How long have you been working on it?”
Peter stared at the computer screen. “Three weeks and one day.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
Normally Peter responded to such questions with a look. The one that said, I’ll talk about it when I’m done. This time, however, Peter replied, “I’ve got JayJay leaving the valley. The bus has an accident. Then nothing. JayJay Parsons has been napping on the LA bus for twenty-two days. He’s as good as petrified.”
Cynthia walked over and hugged him from behind, pulling his hands from the keyboard. “I thought you told me you had the sense in your prayer time of everything being okay.”
“That was then. This is now.” He had come upstairs on a whim, hoping he could finally make some headway. What he felt right now was power. Despite his dissatisfaction over the lack of progress, the room felt electrified. “We both know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”
“It’s just more rumors.”
“No, Cynthia. Not this time.” He touched the edge of the laptop. The force hummed so powerfully he could feel his entire body vibrate. Yet he still could not write a single word. Which was ridiculous. “I feel so alone.”
“That’s the one thing you’re not. The church has been spreading word all over. People are writing from places we’ve never heard of promising to pray—how many e-mails did you get just today?”
“It doesn’t matter. The show is doomed.”
“This is not the way you’re going to start our anniversary evening.” Cynthia reached over him and turned off his laptop. “For six years, people all over the world have found a hint of goodness and light in Heartland. I’m as sorry as you the show’s in trouble. But this is—”
“No you’re not.” Peter swallowed hard. “Nobody’s that sorry. Not even you.”
Cynthia did not argue. “Don’t do this, Peter. Keep the fire alight where it matters most. In your creative heart.”
Peter kept his fingers on the keyboard. Even turned off, the computer seemed to hum with a barely repressed force. He wondered idly if there was a short in the connection. “Tomorrow I’m meeting with the studio chief. And he’s going to tell me what everybody on the set has been saying for weeks. That Heartland is finished.”
Cynthia ran the fingers of one hand through the hair at the base of his neck. Rubbing him like she would a cat. Saying nothing.
Peter caught her expression reflected in the plate-glass window beyond his desk. The emotion etched into her features brought a lump to his own throat. He swallowed hard and asked, “What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to come downstairs and get dressed. Tonight we’re going to do our best to put all this aside and give thanks for the blessings we still have.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow we’ll pray that you have the strength and wisdom to face whatever happens.” She pulled him from the chair. “Now you come with me.”
As he started down the stairs behind his wife, Peter cast one final look back at his desk.
He could almost hear the computer humming.
Chapter 2
There was no doubt in JayJay’s mind. He had died and gone somewhere. The sound of the bus wreck still echoed faintly in his brain. To be honest, he didn’t have any real problem with dying. The problem was, he couldn’t decide where he’d been sent.
Although his body still resonated with his injuries, he no longer felt pain. Actually, he was feeling great. Which suggested he had gone to the higher place. The preacher had made it pretty clear what to expect downstairs, the heat and the smoke and the gnashing of teeth.
He was seeing some gnashing, all right. But they didn’t seem to be experiencing any pain.
He was situated in some kind of warehouse. It was dark. Between him and the only door he could see, two people gnashed away. The lady was good-looking enough to be called an angel, all right. And the guy, well, perfect was the word that came to mind. But JayJay didn’t recall the pastor ever mentioning angels wearing what these people had on. Which for the lady appeared to be a suede bikini and Indian headdress, and the guy was in armor and oil. Nor could he ever recall the pastor mentioning that angels would gnash like they were. Because they were definitely going at it. Oh yeah. He could hear the two of them from across the room. Like hogs at the trough.
The outer door opened. A woman’s voice said, “All right, this isn’t a playpen. Get a room, why don’t you. We’re serious people doing serious work.”
The pair broke off. The lady refit her leather and the guy did something with his armor.
“Hang on. I recognize you two.” The light streaming through the door was certainly bright enough to be heavenly. But the woman sounded like she had chewed off the business end of a cement mixer. “You. Tall guy. You’re late for your screen test. And honey, they’re busy looking for another Pocahontas. If I were you . . .”
But the pair were already gone.
The woman sniffed and might have said, “Extras.” JayJay wasn’t sure. He should have been paying more attention. But he’d just realized he was nude.
Stark naked. Not a stitch of clothing on his frame.
JayJay crouched lower still. He wasn’t sure what was proper in heaven. And he probably shouldn’t care about what to wear in the lower place. But his momma had brought her baby up proper. And he wasn’t about to pop up unclothed in front of a strange lady who might or might not be standing in for Saint Peter.
The woman walked away. JayJay could hear her moving about in another room. Cautiously he scouted around. When he didn’t see anybody else, he rose in stages, ready to do his jackrabbit imitation.
The warehouse looked like it was nothing more than a huge closet. Row after metal row of clothes stretched out behind him. The racks were on wheels. Each rack had a little handwritten sign attached to one corner.
JayJay gasped. The sign on the rack in front of him read, Heartland. Which was the name of his spread.
“Who’s that in there?”
JayJay tore off the first clothes he touched. The metal hangers clattered at his feet.
Footsteps started his way. “I better not find you two back for another round.”
JayJay double-hopped into a pair of jeans. He slipped on a shirt that looked too much like his own. Which spooked him so bad he made a mess of the buttons.
“I don’t like coming down on extras, but in your case I’ll definitely make an . . .” The woman stepped into the chamber, spotted JayJay, and clutched her chest.
JayJay gripped the waist of his trousers to keep them from falling off. “Howd
y, ma’am.”
“Who . . .”
“Sorry to startle you.”
She released her hold on the dress over her heart. “I remember now. You’re the new fellow.”
“I reckon so, ma’am.”
She took a step closer. She tilted her short body with each step, like her spine had permanently stiffened. “You didn’t give me half a shock, mister.”
“That makes two of us, ma’am.”
“You’re so late, they’d just about given up on you. That must be why Casting sent you straight to Wardrobe.” She turned around and motioned for him to follow her. “Come on in here. I need more light to fit you. Gladys, you got to get a load of this one.”
A voice from the other room said, “I’m busy.”
JayJay used his other hand to grip his unbuttoned shirt and shuffled forward. Though the clothes looked just like his own, they were five sizes too big.
The dumpy woman said, “Well, just un-busy yourself and come meet a ghost.”
The second room held no more answers than the first. JayJay stepped into a large chamber, forty feet to a side and surrounded by windows. And upon the windows splashed a brilliant golden light. But the room was for working. A roller system traced along the high ceiling. Three long tables held sewing machines and irons and magnifying glasses on long stems and lights on spindles. And a hundred different-colored threads. And scissors and measuring sticks and pencils and diagrams and working charts and drawings and easels and . . .
“Oh my word.”
A second woman rose from the central table. She was almost as tall as JayJay and wore cat’s-eye glasses that sparkled in the light. She was as old as the first woman and peered at JayJay with the same spooked expression.
The squat woman said, “Can you believe it?”
“I’m looking straight at him, and I don’t trust my own eyes.” The tall woman moved in close. “Where on earth did they find you?”
“T-the bus to Los Angeles, ma’am.”
The angular woman chuckled. “Well, come on over here, and let’s get you fitted up proper.”
The tall woman tugged and drew lines on his clothes. The shorter woman picked up a phone, punched in a number, and said, “It’s Hilda over in Wardrobe. Your replacement JayJay is here.” She listened a moment, then her voice turned flinty. “You know what? I was so busy trying to clean up your messes I forgot to ask.”