Enjoy the View

by Sarah Morgenthaler

  Without the experience to pad her résumé, no one had wanted to take a chance on her directing/producing abilities. So when her agent had passed along that the Alaskan Tourism Board—a nonprofit organization working hand in hand with the Alaskan state government—was looking to have a documentary made about the tiny town of Moose Springs, River had jumped at the chance. She’d fought hard to get this job, and she’d called in every favor she had to get two of the best crew members in the industry to help her make this a documentary that knocked everyone’s socks off.

  The only problem? Moose Springs was about as welcoming to them as a grizzly bear with a face full of porcupine needles.

  Small town hospitality her ass.

  They were on a razor-thin budget, and River had yet to film anything in town legally. None of the permits she’d applied for had been emailed to them as promised by the city website, and they couldn’t film in town without permits or permission from each local business owner. No one had agreed.

  “Are you okay?”

  River looked over at the man taking up the driver’s side. Just when she thought she was immune to the male form—too many years with attractive costars of the opposite sex—a flannel-wrapped hottie like him dropped into her lap. Not that he was wearing flannel, but River would bet money his closet was full of the stuff. The fact that he was driving with one massive shoulder wedged against the window, like he was ready to bail out of the moving vehicle if she looked at him wrong, made her fight down a laugh.

  It was possible River hadn’t made the best first impression on him.

  “I’m fine. Turn left over there.”

  Her crew was waiting for her when they crested the hill. They’d found a perfect location to shoot from, their rental SUV wedged dangerously close to a drop-off, leaving the road mostly free from vehicular hazards. Still, a few hard looks had been sent their way by locals forced to edge around their car as they passed on the tight winding road.

  The man driving her was no different. With a wordless growl of annoyance, he slowed to a crawl and hit his hazard lights.

  “They need to move,” he told her in that low, rumbling voice. “A school bus will be coming through soon.”

  “It’s impossible to find a good place to park around here.”

  “That’s because it’s not supposed to be for people parking. It’s for people driving.”

  “It’ll take more than a few growls to run us off,” River replied as he pulled in behind the SUV.

  With a snort, he killed the engine and got out of the truck. “I’ve got a chain and the number to a tow truck if that helps,” he said before closing the door.

  River followed suit, then she looked at the stranger who had driven her to her crew. River was average height, so she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. Yes, the man was huge, but no, he didn’t intimidate her. Very little intimidated her. Growing up in the country might not have prepared her for surviving Los Angeles, but surviving Los Angeles had prepared her to survive anything.

  Lean hard muscles from hiking and rock wall climbing defined her natural curves, and she hadn’t felt so healthy and strong since leaving Wyoming—nineteen and naive. Who knew ten years was enough time to make it in Hollywood and then start a downward slide into ambiguity, threatening to lose it all? She refused to age out gracefully.

  Screw that. If they were done with her, River was going out with a scream of defiance, not a whimper of defeat.

  “Are you kidding me?” Jessie, her director of photography and coproducer, stomped over to her, sounding as disgusted as River felt. “All of these shots are ruined.”

  “I know, I know. It’s not like I was flagging them down, Jessie.”

  “Well, you could’ve waved them past.” Jessie, being the odd man out of their group of three, was one of few in the male-dominated industry who was more than happy to share a producer’s spot with a woman. He was also a grumpy ninety-year-old woman stuck in a tightly muscled thirtysomething’s body.

  Being nagged by Jessie took up the bulk of River’s days.

  “Actually, I couldn’t. Every single person was determined to convince me I needed help. This is what you get. We’re filming somewhere people are nice. Nice people make sure someone isn’t stuck on the side of the road. I told you this was a bad idea.”

  “It would have been a great idea if you’d—”

  “What? Kicked their tires and told them to scoot along?”

  Realizing she was twanging, River took a deep breath, then another. After years of schooling away her natural accent, she rarely heard her redneck mountain roots in her voice anymore.

  “I’m the producer. I know when the scene is getting screwed up.”

  “Coproducer, unless I end up quitting,” Jessie countered. She was so used to his dramatics, River didn’t even blink at the threat. “While you tried and failed to walk down a road, I tried and failed to get someone from city hall to answer the phone about our nonexistent permits. I gave up. No one is going to answer. If I can’t get copies through email, we’ll have to go down there.”

  “Fine, Jessie. I’ll add it to the list.”

  “Top of the list.” Bree, her audio specialist, jumped out of the SUV, laptop in hand. “I can’t film in town without them.”

  “We can’t film.” Jessie sighed. “Really, ladies, I’m more than happy to be outnumbered, but I do exist.”

  “Do you though?” Bree arched an eyebrow at Jessie, then snickered at the annoyed expression on his face.

  Jessie’s hair was always messy, and he was very pale, as if he’d rolled off the couch in his grandmother’s basement to emerge in the actual sunlight, when in actuality, he preferred to spend all his spare time outdoors like Bree and River did. Their mutual love of hiking and rock climbing had bonded the three beyond the usual professional camaraderie in their industry. Fair skinned to an extreme, even a little sun left Jessie sunburned and peeling. That fair skin had been an issue on every single movie they’d worked on together, to the point that River knew more about Jessie’s skin care regimen than her own.

  But man…was he talented. River couldn’t have asked for a better cameraman and coproducer, even if he was difficult to work with sometimes. Jessie’s attitude had gotten him on the wrong side of the wrong director, and like River, his job options were quickly shrinking. And as good as Jessie was, Bree was absolutely invaluable to River.

  South Asian with a degree in film studies, Bree was beautiful enough to be on the opposite end of the camera she was so good at using, but she was also one of the best in the business at sound. The only reason River had managed to steal her from a big budget job was Bree’s love of being outdoors. The call of Alaska had been enough to get her to come along. For River, this documentary was the most important thing to happen to her career-wise since she’d landed her first acting role. For Bree, it was a paid vacation.

  A car edged around their vehicles, the driver giving everyone a dirty look. River’s impromptu chauffeur frowned. The beard hid a lot of his facial expressions, but his voice was clearly unhappy with the parking situation.

  “Where are we on moving your vehicle?”

  Bree gave him a considering look before turning to River. “I know you’re juggling a lot of jobs right now, but we can’t get a good take if you get yourself kidnapped. A true crime documentary wasn’t the plan.”

  The man with the truck raised his hand. “Technically, I think she kidnapped me.”

  “Who is that?” Jessie asked, pointing at her new bearded acquaintance. “He looks like an ax murderer.”

  The pair looked at River expectantly. River shrugged. “I literally have no idea.”

  They all turned to him, the massive stranger standing there, looking more awkward than she’d ever seen anyone appear in her life.

  “Easton Lockett,” he grunted by way of introduction.

 
“You got in a car with him and you didn’t know who he was?” Jessie groaned. “People die that way.”

  Bree snickered. “Why are we so concerned about her? He’s the one who looks like he needs a stiff drink.”

  “My morning has been more interesting than I expected,” Easton told them.

  Jessie nodded in understanding. “Actresses, right? Total drama queens.”

  “Excuse me?” River turned on Jessie. “I’m not the one causing the drama.”

  “No, you’re just picking up strays on the highway like puppies.”

  They started arguing about who was the bigger pain in the ass, and River would have won if not for Easton interrupting by clearing his throat.

  “I’d like to help get you out of here. Any way we could move this along?”

  They all stared at him—understandably. The man was a mountain. Bree’s head tilted to the side. “You look like Hagrid. A sexy, muscly Hagrid.”

  The poor man actually cringed. “Okay, on that note, I’m going to leave.”

  “No, wait a minute.” River rubbed the bridge of her nose to ease the stress headache headed her way. “Listen, we need to get this footage for the intro to our documentary. I didn’t waste half the day for nothing. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to make a sign that says we’re filming, and someone’s going to hold it.”

  “We don’t have any extra hands, River,” Jessie started to protest. “And it’s way too windy to lean a sign against something.”

  “Oh, we have extra hands.” She didn’t fight the curve on her lips. “Easton, did you still want to help? Because I have the perfect job for you.”

  Chapter 2

  Sometimes River Lane felt as fake as her name.

  She’d changed her given name to River the day she’d signed with her talent agency, and in the ten years since then, she’d never regretted it. The girl she’d once been had kicked the mud off her cowboy boots every evening. The woman she was now still wore boots, but the mud was more often slathered on her face than the backside of a barrel racer tossed on the first barrel.

  You’d think at some point she’d be used to ending up on the ground.

  The call came in as River started her first trek down the stretch of highway they were filming on. Easton was a few miles down the road, and whatever he was doing back there was working. Two cars had gone past already, and other than slowing down for safety—and to gawk—no one had stopped.

  “This is River,” she answered through her headset, glancing at the Anchorage number on her phone.

  “River, it’s Mischa. We need to talk.”

  “Usually that means someone’s about to break up with me.” River hoped her pleasant, joking tone would carry over to the woman on the other end of the line. Mischa was their contact for the Alaskan Tourism Board.

  The job had seemed so cut and dried over the phone. But in the last couple of days, more doors had literally been shut in her face than River had ever experienced in her life. She had a mark on her nose to prove it.

  “I’ve gotten a few complaint calls from the hotel manager at Moose Springs Resort.” Mischa sighed, sounding tired. “They said you’ve been filming there without permission?”

  “It’s not exactly what happened…” River hesitated.

  “They said you frightened a guest.”

  “No, the black bear we were filming frightened the guest. We accidentally scared it, which in turn almost got the guest trampled. It was kind of a domino effect.”

  The silence on the other end of the phone wasn’t encouraging.

  “Everyone was okay,” River added, trying to downplay the incident. “And we’re getting some fabulous shots off the highway as we speak. Legal shots too. They can’t keep us from filming on the road.”

  The other woman sighed. “Moose Springs folk were never ones to let a camera crew in town. The resort doesn’t even want you on the property anymore, and they were always the most laid-back about this kind of thing. Listen, I’m sorry, River. If this isn’t working, we need to cut our losses and move on.”

  A fake expression of contented determination stayed on River’s face because that was what the camera above her on the hill required. She was a professional. She would not rip her mic out and start screaming from sheer frustration.

  “No, Mischa. Please don’t do this. We’ve only gotten started. I have permits,” River insisted. “I just don’t have them. I’m working on it.”

  Another car went past, the driver and her passenger cracking up. That was the third vehicle in a row with visibly amused occupants. Focused on her phone call, River ignored them.

  Through the crackle of bad reception, Mischa sounded dubious. “If you get the film made, then the board will be happy to compensate you for the project. But honestly, River, I’m not holding my breath. We’ve all enjoyed working with you, and we’re excited to have a woman of your acting credentials supporting the state. Maybe we can work out something involving a commercial endorsement at a later time?”

  It took everything she had not to tell Mischa where to tuck that suggestion. River finally had a project worth doing, something that was hers and hers alone, and they were ripping it away. She wouldn’t let this happen.

  Another car came by, this one barely slowing. For some reason, the lack of interest gave her hope.

  “River?”

  “Yes, I’m here. Sorry, there was traffic. Don’t give the contract to anyone else. Let me and my people get the job done. I’ll front the rest of the bill, and if we don’t deliver, I’ll eat the costs of filming and rework the project into something else. An indie film or something. Deal?”

  Mischa agreed—albeit with audible reluctance—and ended the call, leaving River to stare at the background on her phone. It was a picture of her father and herself taken from a Christmas years ago. A man who had hated seeing her leave but had never once stopped supporting and encouraging her.

  River refused to call him and tell him another career was over. She would make this documentary, no matter what.

  The headset beeped, Jessie’s voice coming over. “Hey, turn around and do a second loop. This time without the suitcase. You can leave it where you’re at, tucked behind that boulder just off the road. It’s out of the shot.”

  “Thank goodness. My arm is killing me.”

  “Think of it as weight training,” he teased. “I didn’t realize we were doing a reaction shot.”

  River grimaced. “Did I fall out of character?”

  “Only for a moment. I’d hate to be whoever was on the other end of that call. Please tell me it was Sweeny. Watching you eat him alive has been the highlight of my career.”

  Sweeny had been the director on one of River’s films, the one she’d met Jessie on. Brilliant, but a total pain to work for. Unlike her counterparts, River had gone head-to-head with him more than once. Somehow that turned into a brief, ill-advised, and excessively frustrating relationship that River was more than happy to be done with. Sweeny and Jessie had butted heads almost as much as River had, and he was a big part of why Jessie had lost his most recent project.

  “I wish,” she said. “I stopped taking his calls. Sweeny’s still trying to ‘fix’ me.”

  Jessie snorted. “How’s that working out for him?”

  “About as well as it worked for him on set.” Shrugging, River added, “I am who I am.”

  “And that’s why we love you. So, who was the call?”

  “Mischa. It’s not good news. Let’s get this last pass, and then I’ll tell you both.”

  Without the constant interruption of stopping cars and the suitcase slowing her steps, River made quick work of the last pass along the highway. Plopping down on the rock she had tucked the suitcase behind, she waited for Bree and Jessie to pack up and meet her.

  Rubbing the pressure points in her scalp to relie
ve tension, she glanced down the curving, mountainside highway. Somewhere down the road, a very attractive, very bearded man didn’t know they were done. River would have called Easton, but she hadn’t thought to get his number.

  “Sorry, Easton,” she murmured. “You’ll have to wait until I get a ride.”

  Now that the filming was done, River could finally take a moment and enjoy being there. The Turnagain Arm flowed past on the other side of the road, the rough waters breaking and crashing. They’d picked this stretch of highway for a reason. The next turn was more picturesque but had so much wind, it had been difficult to walk without leaning over. Here everything but the waters were calmer. She spied three mountain goats on the cliff above her head, and at least one fish gave up the ghost when a hungry eagle dove into the water.

  Poor sucker never saw it coming.

  Moose Springs, Alaska, was the farthest from home she’d ever been. The jet-setting lifestyle River had dreamed of as a child never quite panned out. She hadn’t seen the world. She’d seen the inside of a studio, then another, then more. She filmed on location, but most of those locations were in Los Angeles or Vancouver, and only once had her film career taken her to the East Coast. When people met her, they always assumed she had the world at her fingertips.

  But River wasn’t a classic. She was a cliché.

  Thinking about Easton was much more pleasant than worrying about the current state of her career. When the crew’s Subaru SUV pulled off the road across from her, River was deep in daydreams about scuffed boots and calloused hands. She joined her people, trying to decide the best way to break this to them.

  “What’s the news?” Bree asked, leaning a hip against the car.

  “The tourism board got wind of our incident with the bear yesterday. They’re dissolving the contract. Technically, they’re still willing to buy the documentary, but they don’t think we can pull it off.”