Page 72 of Born to be Wilder

“The bigger the better.” Alice straightened her collar. “I want to be very visible in this scene. Don’t want to have to squint to find myself, you know?”

Sylvie’s face drained of even more color.

“You okay, Sylvie? You don’t look so good.” Doris pressed a hand to Sylvie’s forehead.

“I… Why am I suddenly so nervous? I really feel like I may puke.”

“Just a little stage fright,” Alice answered. “Normal for the newbies. You’ll be fine. Just breathe.”

Sylvie took several deep breaths, but her face didn’t regain its color and her eyes resembled Bambi’s mom’s right before the gunshot.

“Places!” someone yelled. “Rolling! And... ACTION!”

The dusty street went silent. The thunder of hooves came first—building fast from the far end of the street, and then Jackson Harlow astride a big bay horse exploded into the town square before us, dirt flying as he hauled his horse to a stop. Even knowing it was a movie, my heart kicked up because it looked real. It looked exactly like every Western I’d ever loved.

Before Jackson could open his mouth to yell for the sheriff, Doris bolted out from the sidewalk.

“Stop! Stop right now!” she shrieked.

“Doris!” I called, and started after her.

“CUT!” someone yelled.

Doris ignored all the shouts from crew members as she marched up to the horse while we three widows stared, dumbfounded.

“What the hell is she doing?” Sylvie whispered.

“Ruining my life,” Alice deadpanned.

“Townswoman Number Thirteen! What the hell are you doing!” Toby came tearing toward her, dust from the street kicking up behind him. “Get away from Jackson Harlow! NOW!”

Doris ignored him, pointing at the horse’s head. “I—I’m so sorry I’m ruining the shot. I’m so terribly sorry. But that horse’s tongue is over the bit, and the bit is on backward. He’s been gaping his whole mouth this entire time and he’s in pain, and I just can’t stand by and watch an animal in pain⁠—”

Toby’s face remained the color of the tomatoes in the crate beside me. “You can’t just run onto the set!”

“I know I shouldn’t have, and I am deeply, deeply sorry, but I work on a dude ranch, and I know horses, and that animal⁠—”

“Someone get her off my set!” the director barked.

I winced. Sylvie made a strangled sound beside me.

Alice lowered her head and sighed. “Well, there goes my moment on the silver screen. We’re getting kicked out.”

A man dressed in a modern-day cowboy outfit stepped through the crew and moved toward the horse, his frown deepening as he approached. When he got to the horse’s head and looked at the bit, he went very still.

He turned to the woman behind him, a little brunette who looked like his assistant. “Who tacked up this horse?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, Mr. Paxton.”

He pointed to the horse’s bit. “She’s right. This bit is on backward and he’s got his tongue over it. I want to know who tacked up this horse. Now.”

She spun and took off running.

Mr. Paxton looked at Jackson. “Sorry, sir. But I need you to dismount so I can fix the bridle.”

Jackson hopped off and stepped to the side as Mr. Paxton slipped the bridle off the horse’s head. Even I could see the relief on the horse’s face the moment the bit came free.

“I’m really sorry I ruined the scene, sir, but you see, I live part of the year on a dude ranch, and I know bridles and bits. And this one was on backward and that horse was in pain.”