“He got me.” The would-be bandit hunched over, having been shot by another actor’s finger gun. He stumbled away in the worst case of overacting Wyatt had seen since his first job in commercials.
The three Clark boys clustered around a woman Wyatt didn’t recognize. She pointed at a middle-aged man lying on the ground. “Get the doctor. The blacksmith was stabbed by Mike Moody.”
Dr. Carlisle stepped out of the throng of background players and knelt to attend to her patient. Immediately, the Clark boys surrounded the pair.
“Grandpa, you’re good at this,” Adam told the man with the pretend stab wound.
“Here comes the sheriff!” Odette pointed at the retreating bandit. “Help! We’ve been robbed.”
The sheriff stepped into the midst of the group of actors. “Who’s with me? If we hurry, we can catch him.”
Ashley was grinning.
Really? This was atrocious! Even for a street performance.
Wyatt pushed past the audience of Monroes, hurried down the slope and joined her as the posse searched for the wounded bandit, who’d exited stage right. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Shhh.” Ashley grabbed on to his arm and drew him close. “This is the best part.”
And it was. Because she was touching him and the familiar heat she created was making him move closer. He may have let instinct move his body, but his intellect was still working. “This is the worst part ever.”
“Shhh.” She leaned against his chest.
“Did you hear that?” The sheriff paused in his search.
“Crack. Boom. Boom,” the villain intoned in an ominous voice. “Splat.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes, which only aggravated the ache in his black eye.
“Rock slide,” one of the chorus said in overamplified horror. “Do you think...?”
“Look! It’s his horse,” said another, as far overboard as her cast mate.
As one, the posse watched an imaginary horse run past. As one, they inched forward, gazes sweeping the ground. As one, they gasped.
“Look at those boots. It’s him,” said a third, pointing. “Under that boulder.”
“How like the move in The Wizard of Oz,” Wyatt murmured in Ashley’s ear.
She shushed him.
Wyatt refused to be shushed. “Witch flattened by farmhouse. Bandit flattened by boulder.”
Ashley subtly elbowed him.
The posse heaved an imaginary boulder from the booted villain.
“But...where’s the stolen gold?” The sheriff glanced around, clearly looking for it.
One of the chorus stepped forward, staring at a point above Ashley’s head. “For over one hundred years, Merciless Mike Moody’s hideout was never found. Many searched for it and his gold, some losing their lives. And now you, too, can chase Mike Moody through the hills to his hideout.”
“Cut. Fantastic.” Ashley stepped forward, glowing. “And then Shane will offer horseback tours of Mike Moody’s infamous hideout. After which, you’ll all take a bow.”
The troupe did. And as they bent their heads, Wyatt’s head began to spin. America’s Sweetheart was hawking horseback riding to tourists? This was so far from red carpets and fancy parties.
“Laurel has the wardrobe ready at the inn for one last fitting.” Ashley returned to Wyatt’s side, keeping a distance between them that said they were friendly, not dating. “See everyone on Sunday.”
Wyatt wished he’d grabbed his sunglasses when he’d run out the door, because now the cast was approaching, most chattering excitedly. He snagged Ashley’s sunglasses, trying to hide his shiner.
“Hey.” Ashley protested but didn’t reach for her sunglasses. She smiled at her cast. “Wyatt, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Wyatt. Now go try on your wardrobe. Laurel’s waiting.”
Most left, but not before Wyatt shook each of their hands in turn. Ashley had a kind word to say for each of them, too, shooing them along.
Jonah had reprised his role as Mike Moody. He approached with his burlap mask off, trailed by the injured blacksmith, the man Adam had called Grandpa.
“Not bad, right?” Jonah asked Wyatt, who nodded and looked to the other man.
The blacksmith wore traditional ranchers’ garb—a faded brown T-shirt, blue jeans and boots. And he had a bow to his knees as if he’d spent too much time in the saddle. “This is embarrassing, Ashley. I only signed on to please my grandsons. Didn’t think I’d have a speaking role.”
“Now, Rich.” Ashley rubbed his shoulder encouragingly. “We’re short on male actors. You’re doing fine.”
“I have an idea,” Wyatt said, possibly because of all that increased blood flow to his brain. “How about I play Mike Moody, Jonah plays the blacksmith and then Rich can fill out the chorus.”
“Hey,” Jonah protested. “You can’t just take my role.”
“Grandpa, come on,” Adam called from the slope above. “We’re getting ice cream at the general store.”
“He can play Jeb,” Rich said, moseying up the hill without waiting to see what Ashley had to say about that.
Jonah and Wyatt turned to her.
“It can be my audition for the movie,” Wyatt ground out when she didn’t make the call herself.
“You can play the blacksmith,” Jonah said stubbornly.
Wyatt shook his head. “It’s The Ballad of Mike Moody, not The Ballad of the Blacksmith. People expect me to be in the lead role.”
Ashley laughed. “I totally expected you to say that.”
Her response confused him. “Don’t act like this is a bad thing. If I play Mike, you have my permission to announce my casting for the street fair on social media. People will come to see me, not your no-name brother.”
“Hey. People will come to see Ashley,” Jonah said hotly. “They already plan to.”
Ashley sighed. “But more will come to see Wyatt. And Shane wanted a crowd on Sunday. Sorry, Jonah. I owe you.” She hooked her arm through Wyatt’s and came in close. “Take a picture of us and post it.”
“Good thing I know the lines,” Jonah grumbled as he snapped a picture with his cell phone. “And, no, I’m not photoshopping your black eye out.” He stomped off.
“Well, you’ve got your audition.” Ashley started up the slope. But instead of heading toward the Lodgepole Inn and wardrobe, she turned south toward the church across the two-lane highway.
Wyatt followed. He was beginning to suspect he’d follow her anywhere. “Can I at least glance at the script? Or do you want me to improv everything on Sunday?”
“Here.” She gave him the pages she’d been carrying.
Small font. Two columns on a landscaped page. Even if the sun hadn’t been glaring off of the white paper and making him squint, he might have had trouble reading it. But there was no time to read. Ashley was still moving.
“Let me know if you have questions,” she said.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m meeting with the wedding decorator at the church.” She glanced at her phone and dashed off a message, moving too close to the highway and an approaching truck.
Wyatt grabbed her shoulders and held her back. “Where’s your assistant? Or your mother? You need a keeper.”
“I don’t have an assistant other than Mom, but she’s more interested in sipping tea lately than in what I’m up to.” She waved to a brunette wearing glasses standing near the church. Her phone pinged. She paused on the orange line dividing the road to read the message.
“Did that dragon of a mother of yours teach you nothing about safety?” Wyatt dragged her to the other side of the road. “You don’t check your phone in the middle of a highway.”
“It was urgent.” Ashley tucked her phone in the back of her jeans pocket.
“And so is living.”
“Hey, Sophie.”
Ashley greeted the brunette. “Wyatt, this is my cousin Sophie. I can’t remember if you’ve met. She’s doing double duty as wedding decorator and my set consultant.”
After his introduction, the women ignored him and discussed the placement of flowers, chairs and food for the outdoor ceremony. He took another look at the script, but his head hurt and his vision was too wonky.
A few more cars drove past, slowing for the stop sign and taking a good long look in their direction before proceeding. Not that their passing audience bothered Sophie or Ashley. Or the painters finishing their work.
“What about tents for privacy?” Wyatt couldn’t stand it anymore. They were just a few hundred feet from the intersection of two mountain highways. “Anybody can park and take photographs.” If it were his wedding, he’d want a huge tent and security guards, his privacy protected.
“Hardly anyone drove by when I got married here a few months ago.” Sophie adjusted her glasses. “Although there was that one car that honked when the minister said Zeke could kiss the bride.” She blushed.
Ashley’s cousin Cam, the chef, joined them. The conversation turned to the logistics of food service.
Wyatt drifted inside the church. He’d grown up attending a church this size in Virginia, but it lacked the grandeur of windows behind the pulpit that allowed the parishioners a view of the Sawtooth Mountains, similar to the view from his hotel room window.
He sat in the back, an unusual place for him. His mother had always made sure their family sat in the front row. Wyatt used to think it was because their family received supplemental groceries from the church every week and Mom wanted them to look pious and grateful. Sure as sunrise, they wouldn’t have made their presence known like that if Dad had ever attended church with them.
Two little boys popped up from the front pew, finger guns trained on him. They were identical, with Sophie’s shade of brown hair and smiles as mischievous as the Clark boys.
“Stick ’em up, mister,” said the boy with the cowlick.
Wyatt dutifully raised his hands in the air, although he was tempted to touch his own misbehaving lock of hair in tribute to the little man. “I didn’t think Mike Moody would rob a man in church.”
“We’re not Mr. Moody.” The second boy rolled his eyes. “We’re the Merc’less Monroe Twins.”
His brother elbowed him. “Merciless Roosevelt Twins.”
“The Ruthless Roosevelts.” Wyatt provided an edit to the script. Free of charge.
“Ruthless,” the two echoed, grinning at each other.
They stood and ran out, cowboy hats in hand instead of on their heads, boots ringing on the church hardwoods.
“Mom, we’re ruthless!”
“You certainly are,” Sophie agreed happily.
“Can we ride ponies today?”
“Papa Zeke said you can tomorrow,” Sophie said.
Smiling, Wyatt turned back to the church window. The light was easier on his eyes. He should try reading the script again, but more memories of his mother leaped to mind. Her laughter. How she made sure her children ate before she did. Her willingness to volunteer for good works. He should start a charity in her name.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ashley sat near him. “Shane’s looking for a minister in nearby towns, someone who wouldn’t mind holding service here weekly or monthly.”
“Why would Shane do that?”
“We own this town.” Ashley spoke as if she was telling him she owned stock in a shoe company, as if it was no big deal. “We inherited it from our grandfather. Surely someone’s told you that by now.”
“No. You own this shabby, run-down town?” Wyatt sat back hard; his spine bumped against the church pew. “No one told me. Not even Gabby.”
“It’s probably not much of a secret for her.” Ashley’s perfect smile never wavered. “The first time I came here was for Sophie’s wedding. And I couldn’t wait to leave. And then I heard the story of Mike Moody, and about the gold, and Jonah’s version of how it all went wrong with Letty’s death.” Ashley angled her body to face him, and the excitement in her eyes was almost palpable.
Here comes that twist in the script.
But it didn’t seem as important as basking in her enthusiasm. Wyatt couldn’t remember when he’d been as excited as she was about a movie project or...well...anything. He bet she woke up every morning eager to face the day, hopping out of bed with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning. Conversely, most days he woke up mentally rehearsing the predictable lines from one of his action films and carefully stretching his battered body before ever extending a toe toward the floor. That was, until he’d come to Second Chance and discovered Ashley at the diner. Now he had something exciting to roll out of bed for. And if the part was meaty enough and he landed a role in her film, he could feel that way through the entire project.
Ashley stared at Wyatt with stars in her eyes. Unfortunately, he was fairly certain those stars weren’t shining for him.
“Wyatt?” she asked in a voice that told him he’d spaced out and misplaced the thread of conversation.
“Feed me that line one more time,” he said automatically, as if they were on set.
“I asked you if you brought a tux for the wedding on Saturday.”
That wasn’t right. She hadn’t been talking about his clothes. This was a test of some kind. “We were talking about Mike Moody.”
“Past tense.” She got to her feet, heading for the door. “I’ve got to check on the Old West Festival cast to make sure they don’t exhaust Laurel.”
“Wait.”
There was something she wasn’t telling him. Something she was holding back. And the only time Ashley seemed to hold back was when the topic was her sister.
Wyatt glanced out the open door at the wildflower-filled meadow and then inside at the crisp white walls. And then his gaze came to rest on Ashley, on her deep red hair, her delicate features, her bright blue eyes. But there was more to her than what the world saw. She wasn’t saccharine sweet or a coddled star. She was kind and smart and sexy, and the woman he wanted to grow old with.
Ashley Monroe, America’s Sweetheart.
He loved her.
And yet she’d reject that love because of the situation they were in.
He stood and went to her. Instead of telling her his feelings, he ran his fingers through her fine red hair and asked, “Why am I wrong for the role of Mike?”
Her expression flinched, just a quick flash that her focus had been broken. “We’ve been over this.”
“The truth, Ash.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE LODGEPOLE INN was bustling with cast members, all chattering. Gabby kept an eye on them, registering Odette talking about finishing a quilt, Flip discussing the too-pale shade of her dress for the show, and Jonah trying on the blacksmith’s apron while telling anyone who’d listen that Wyatt had stolen his role as Mike Moody.
“Sweet,” Gabby said to herself.
Dad had put a temporary rod across the kitchen alcove to allow people to change into their costumes. Laurel walked around the lobby, giving a reassuring word and putting pins in where needed. Gabby sat at the check-in desk, head down and screen averted as she searched the fan page for new pictures of Wyatt and Ashley.
“You need to rest,” Dad told Laurel. “At least sit down.”
Gabby raised her head. Anything that concerned Laurel and the babies concerned her.
Laurel waved him off. “This is the first, and last, chance to adjust costumes before Sunday. I’ll be done in fifteen minutes.”
“But you’ve been on your feet for an hour.” Dad paced around Laurel. He looked like he might just march her back to the apartment and put her to bed, the way he used to do with Gabby when she was a kid.
Not that Gabby remembered. But having seen Sophie take care of her toddlers earlier this y
ear, she assumed there had been days where she’d tested her father’s patience, just like Laurel was testing it now.
“You should rest, Laurel,” Gabby said. “I’ll put all the costumes back.” Gabby was Team Twin, after all. She’d do whatever she could for those babies. It was why she’d agreed to help Ashley’s cousin Shane on Operation Snaparazzi.
Genevieve appeared at Gabby’s shoulder. “Laurel’s working too hard. She should be resting. Her wedding’s tomorrow.”
“You try telling her to rest.” Gabby nodded toward the lobby, where Laurel and Dad continued to spar.
“Is that part of your operation? Let me see what you’ve done so far.” Genevieve leaned on the check-in desk and peered at Gabby’s computer screen. “If there’s one thing positive I can say about Second Chance, it’s that you all pull together.”
“It was Shane’s idea.” Shane had lots of ideas. “But Wyatt’s people are doing it, too.”
“That Shane.” Genevieve frowned. “Growing up, my nephew was a handful.”
Gabby grinned. “That’s what Dad says about me.”
Genevieve tapped the screen with her manicured fingernail over the photo Jonah had just contributed to promote the Old West Festival. “If you say Wyatt Halford is going to be in the festival, you should also say he’s going to be in the film.” She angled the laptop toward her and made an edit. “Wyatt Halford and Ashley Monroe will also soon appear in the on-screen version.”
“But that’s not true.” Gabby pointed to a small number beneath a photograph. “And we’ve got five thousand views already without mentioning the movie.”
“I haven’t saved it.” Genevieve drummed her fingers on the keys as if she was going to type more. “You can play with the truth sometimes. Maybe we could say ‘hopefully soon to be seen’?”
“What’s that?” Dad leaned in to look at what they were doing. “Are you on social media?”
Uh-oh. When had he sneaked up on them? Dad didn’t know about the Snaparazzi.
The Littlest Cowgirls--A Clean Romance Page 19