Okay, then. Quint turns and walks down the aisle, and I take a step forward. Damn it if he isn’t right and the horse follows along beside me, head gently bobbing.
Until we get through the big open door. My arm is jerked forward and a burning pain sears my palm as the rope runs along it with force. I hiss in a sharp breath.
Quint takes the rope from me. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I inspect my palm, but the burn is already subsiding.
“Flash, bad girl. You’re supposed to wait.” His words are scolding but his tone is gentle. He hands the rope back to me. “Now you can hold her while she grazes. Let her eat away to her heart’s content. Move around with her. Give her slack, but don’t let the lead get tangled or under her feet.”
“Sounds super relaxing.” I’m on high alert, watching the rope, watching the horse, watching where I’m standing.
He doesn’t seem to catch my sarcasm, tilting his head up to let the sun shine on his face. It paints him in a beautiful light, highlighting those sculpted cheekbones and the nose that might be a little too large on another man but suits him just perfectly.
The horse is munching away at the grass, ripping it from the ground with soft tearing noises. Quint rolls up the sleeves of his button-up shirt, then steps in to lean on the horse’s back. She doesn’t even lift her head at the pressure. But I can’t stop looking at those forearms, tanned from the sun, not from a tanning bed, pronounced veins running over the muscles.
The sun beats down on us, and a handful of people move about the fields and the larger barn to our left, but no one bothers us. No one walks up to ask for an autograph or shoves a camera in my face, and slowly the tension seeps out of my body. There’s still a manure smell lingering in the air, but it’s not as pungent out in the wide-open space.
But it’s the lack of noise that’s really stark. There are no cars honking, people yelling, or sirens blaring. Instead, all I can hear are birds singing their unique tunes, the horse munching, and the occasional stomp of a hoof. Blissful, serene, strange. Like I’ve landed on another planet, or another timeline at the very least.
After a time, Quint straightens up. “We should probably be getting her back in. It’s about time to head in for lunch and then, like I said, I’ve got things to do around here. Not all of us have that Hollywood money to fall back on.”
Spell broken. “It’s not all fun and games, you know. And if I can’t keep this job, that’s going to have to last me the rest of my life.”
He purses his lips. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I was just commenting.”
“Yeah, you and everybody else.”
I gather up the lead line, pulling at the horse’s head, but she ignores me, continuing to devour the lawn. Excellent for my grand plan of storming off.
“Hey, hey, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
He steps toward me with his hands up and palms facing me, getting closer as I yank at the horse, trying to get her to lift her head from her feast.
“Hey, let me just help you there.”
I frown, shoulders sinking in defeat. “I thought you said she was obedient.”
“Generally, I’d say she is. But when it comes to fresh grass and sunshine, she can be a little stubborn. Can you blame her?”
“Guess not.” I’ve spent enough of my life watching what I eat to fit someone else’s expectations about what looks good onscreen to sympathize with the desire for a tasty snack.
Quint steps in closer until the toe of his worn cowboy boot brushes my ridiculously shiny brand new one that is in fact rubbing my heel something fierce—not that I’ll ever admit it to him—and his fingers brush mine as he wraps them around the lead rope. As soon as he has a hold on it, I take a hasty step back.
“Come on, girl,” he says with a gentle tug on the rope. He makes a clucking sound with his tongue, and the horse lifts her head up.
“That easy, huh?” I ask.
“Don’t take it personally. We go way back.” Then his lips curve into a smile and years of memories flash across his face. There’s something about his smile that’s captivating. When he’s looking at the horse as the sun shines down, it’s a screen-worthy moment, and I can feel it. That little tingle I get when I have the opportunity to do a project that’s going to take off. This place, the actors, theshowrunner. It has all the ingredients. This could very well be my ultimate comeback. My best role yet.
I walk beside them, blinking as we pass through the large door into the shadows of the barn.
Flash follows him into the stall, ducking her head to let him slip the halter off, and he steps out, sliding the stall door shut and latching it.
“Just make sure you hang the halter and lead here on the door after you’re done.” His brow wrinkles, and his eyes darken. There’s a tinge of sadness there, but his sunny smile is back on his face the next moment, so I must be mistaken.
“Gotcha.” Am I even going to have to do this by myself? Seems unlikely. Once filming starts there will be animal wranglers and handlers. Nobody’s going to leave me alone to deal with these creatures. Insurance, liability, injury. Too many dire possibilities for one of the stars of the show.
Quint leans against the door, arms crossed, studying me with those interesting eyes. I shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Nobody really looks at you in Hollywood. Not unless they’re cataloging your flaws or assessing your usefulness to them.
