We’re not talking but still standing so close. Then it occurs to me, she hasn’t told me what she wants out of this. “What do you get out of it?”
She nods her head, like she’s prepared her answer to this very question. “More access to you, to make the film better. Iwant more training sessions—like this morning, you went out there when I wasn’t here.” She shakes her head. “You get the itch to train at two a.m. because you can’t sleep? Come wake me up. I want access to everything, so I can make you the best film I can make to help us both, okay?”
I nod.
“And I want more footage of you outside of training, too.”
“Workin’ the ranch?” I ask, because pretty much all she’s been filming are chores and tasks. It’s noMission Impossible, but it’s real.
But that’s not what she means, because she shakes her head, giving me the faintest notes of berries and vanilla from her shampoo. “You with Tate, with the Collier family. You being you, outside the ranch. The longer I’m here, the more I think the full picture is more than training and the ranch. It’s you being adored by this town, you being in the place you love, where you were raised, doing what you were born to do. We need more of Landry Vaughn the man, not just Landry Vaughn the rodeo star.”
She smiles, going on. “Part of the reason I’m a one-camera documentarian is that the camera I use, and not having boom mics and all that around, is it allows a home-movie feel in the moment but is edited to look like any other documentary. So don’t worry, if you think me filming you in your element indoors is going to feel strange. I promise, it won’t.”
“That’s quite exactly what I was thinking about,” I admit, envisioning me wearing a crooked smile as I eyeball the camera like Jim inThe Office.
She smiles. “I know. I saw your brain working.”
I smile. She continues.
“And I’d like to have a local premiere here in Sable Sky, and for us to go together.” All her access requests are really tomake the film better for me, too, but I’m not sure where this request lies.
“You want me to go to the premiere with you?” I assumed if there was one, I would, even without the marriage.
She looks a little embarrassed, maybe by the request. Quinn shakes her head. “I do, but I feel embarrassed to ask.”
I tip my head to the side. “More or less embarrassing than me asking you to be my temporary fake wife?”
She wobbles her hand between us, nose scrunched. “About the same.”
We smile at each other and even though I could easily swoop down and kiss her, I don’t. She’s helping me and I’m not trying to confusehelpwithfeelings.
“And we have to be honest with each other. If something comes up and you get hurt, or a new, super good rodeo guy enters the race and you’re stressed, or if your in-laws pull something—whatever it is, we have to stay honest. Communicate.”
“Okay,” I say, “I agree.” I have to laugh, though. “But if I come to you with my hat in my hands all torn up over some twenty-something comin’ for my title, you better check the carbon monoxide detector. Or make sure I’m not bein’ drugged.”
She smirks. “You’re mighty confident.”
I nod. “I am.” Her cheeks flame, and it makes me feel like I won a million dollars. “C’mon, let’s go to Mabel’s and get your stuff.”
CHAPTER 14
I NEED SOMETHING TO BREAK MY FALL (FALLING IN LOVE)
The entire weekwas spent in grueling training since the rodeo is nearing. Though Quinn was there, her camera religiously recording, I didn’t lose my focus.
In fact, all week I’ve been able to train with such focus I didn’t really even remember she was there.
My mind is right, in the game, ready for my time, to claim those eight seconds, own that bronc, and collect my winnings. It’s not about the title. I had the title then; I don’t need it again. If it weren’t for the money, I’d never have come back.
My joy of the sport died with my wife, and I’ve mentally moved on.
That’s why I was surprised by the muscle memory in my body, surprised by my last few training sessionsgoing so well, despite the fact that I’ve got years on me I didn’t have before.
Usually when I start to focus on my grip and timing, and add in marking out and exposure in my dry runs, I’m frazzled upstairs. I run through all the things I did wrong, feel all my weaknesses as my entire body torques in the moment, and spend the remainder of the day worrying about it all. Replaying it back, hoping it was better than I imagined. Takes me a few tries to mark out, but on the mechanical rider this week, my spurs were well above my shoulders on every buck.
Today, a week earlier than planned, I’m starting live horse practice, away from the gym and the bucking machine. Putting a real live animal between my legs ought to tell me how training is actually going, and I’m ready to learn, eager to find out what else I gotta do to be so good I can’t lose.
I guess before, when I did this, I wanted to win. I was excited to experience the victory, to experience what it feels like to tame the animal in front of the entire town, for them to see in just eight short seconds how dedicated and hardworking I’d been.
