Page 71 of Born to be Wilder

I grumbled, knowing she had a point. One misstep and they might toss us out on our keisters despite my obvious talent.

“Okay. New plan,” I said, spotting a side alley between the livery and the jail. “We’re basically outlaws now. We gotta lay low until the heat dies down. Let’s go hide out there for a little bit, and then we’ll find the guys to get us to our shot. We’ve got history to be made. A legacy to leave behind etched into the archives of cinema for generations of viewers to watch us and⁠—”

“Oh, Christ! Can it, Marge!” Alice turned and walked away. “Let’s just go hide for a while so everyone stops glaring at us.”

Her crimson skirt swished along the fake dirt road as the other widows hurried to keep up. I glanced back at the set one last time, my resolve to redeem myself and wow them with my movie mastery building in my chest like a war drum.

Look out, Jackson Harlow. There’s a new star in this here town, I thought to myself as I caught his eye, giving him a tip of my Stetson before rushing off after the widows.

Chapter Fifteen

Toby, the assistant director, held his clipboard against his chest like a shield. “Whatever you do, don’t look at the camera. The camera is a black hole. It doesn’t exist. You’re just living your 1880s life. Got it?” His eyes, bloodshot and red like he hadn’t had time to sleep since the invention of color film, moved between me and the widows, a warning in them not to make his life any more difficult than it clearly already was.

“Don’t look at the camera. Got it.” Doris nodded, her focus laser sharp as she listened to the instructions. “Then… where do we look?”

He pointed to a spot by the general store. “Anywhere but the camera. You’re window shopping. Talking about... I don’t know, flour prices. A rider comes in. He calls out the sheriff. You all look toward the commotion. Watching intently. Gunfight breaks out. You scream. You take cover. Natural. Got it?”

“Got it.” Sylvie nodded, but for some reason, her face was as tense as if we were about to launch out of a plane again.

“Sounds easy,” Alice added, adjusting her brooch.

“Quick question.” I stepped forward and adjusted the weight of the twin Colts on my hips. “About the taking cover, I don’t think that’s what my character, Buck, would do.”

Toby blinked. “Who?”

“I’ve developed a character. Her name is Buckshot—Buck for short. She’s a woman who came up hard on the frontier, doesn’t talk much, seen things she can’t unsee⁠—”

“Marge,” Alice said.

“Just let me finish.” I held up a hand, and Alice let out a long-suffering sigh. “She has a whole arc. Buck isn’t scared of gunshots. Buck has been in worse scrapes than a dusty little street duel, so when those shots go off, I’m thinking she’d actually draw her guns and⁠—”

“You’re an extra,” Toby said. “You act scared. Like a regular person.”

“But Buck isn’t a regular person. She lost her husband in a bandit attack, fought off a wolf with a stick, had to make it on her own hunting down bounties and saving damsels from predators. She’s seen some real gritty stuff. Stuff that would send you scurrying back to your momma’s womb. Buck wouldn’t scream. Buck would just spit on the ground and evaluate the wind speed for a return shot.” I smirked, rising on my heels and settling back down, spurs scraping the wood planks beneath me. “And that return shot? She sure as hell wouldn’t miss.”

Toby stared at me, his radio crackling with static. “There is no Buck. You are Townswoman Number Fourteen. You scream. You duck. You don’t spit. Just freaking do what you’re asked or I’m putting you in the livery stable with the manure.”

I grumbled, stepping back into line. “No vision. This kid has zero artistic vision.”

“Marge.” Alice leveled me with a glare. “No Buck. Okay? Because if Buck surfaces during this shot, she’s gonna meet Dolly, my character. And Dolly is going to stab Buck through the side of the head and then kick her dead corpse before hitting that saloon for a drink.”

My mouth opened to argue back, but then it broke into a smile. “Damn. I like Dolly!”

“Marge, please,” Sylvie whispered, her face the color of unbaked dough. “Don’t cause problems. I’m nervous already. I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Just be scared. You’re scared. Please.” Toby looked at me, those bloodshot eyes begging me to follow his instructions.

I scowled, then sighed. “Fine. Scared. I can do scared.”

None of them looked convinced. I didn’t take it personally.

Toby positioned us on the boardwalk in front of the general store, gave me a stern stare, then left to manage a hundred other things.

We had a clear view straight down the main street, the camera rig set up on its dolly track to our left, the hitching posts and their horses directly across from us.

“This is so cool!” Doris practically squealed. “Can you believe we’re about to be in a movie? And one with Jackson Harlow and Colt Stirling? This is amazing! Axel is going to pass out when I tell him.”

Sylvie stared at the camera nearest us. “Why is that camera so big? Is that normal? Are they supposed to be this big?”