Page 73 of Born to be Wilder

He exhaled slowly. “Good catch. Real good catch.” He stroked the horse’s neck and turned to Doris. “I’m Angus. Wrangler of the animals on this set and many others. And I’ll have the job of whatever idiot tacked up Betty here. Poor girl. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

With a few clicks of the buckles, he flipped the bit around on the leather headstall. Then he slowly slipped the bit back into Betty’s mouth. This time, she looked quite content while he fastened the throat latch.

“There, girl. That better?”

He patted her neck, and she cocked a leg like she could finally relax.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Paxton. I didn’t know the bit was on backward. I don’t know enough about horses to know she was in pain,” Jackson said as he approached Doris and Angus.

“Oh my God,” Alice whispered. “Look! Doris is standing less than a foot away from Jackson Harlow!”

“Would you look at that.” I grinned.

Jackson turned to Doris. “And you.”

Sylvie sucked in a breath beside me as Doris stared at Jackson, her eyes so wide I worried they’d be caked with dust when she finally blinked again.

“Thank you. I love horses even though I don’t know a damn thing about them. I’m glad you were brave enough to say something. Betty here is a good girl. She’s been taking care of me the better part of the month. Not only did you save her from the pain she was in, you saved us from smart horse people like yourself tearing us apart in reviews. Could have been a real nightmare. You have my gratitude. What’s your name?”

Doris’s mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

“It’s Doris!” I called to him.

“Well, thank you, Doris.” He smiled, touched her shoulder in a gentle gesture, then swung back up on Betty, giving her a pat before spinning her away.

“Ma’am.” Mr. Paxton tipped his hat and walked away after him.

Toby pursed his lips, no doubt still fuming she’d broken the scene, but even he couldn’t argue with the movie star. “Just… go back to the boardwalk. Go.”

He waved his hands at her, and Doris floated back toward us, her eyes alight with wonder as she arrived.

“Doris! You were incredible!” Sylvie bumped her with a hip.

“Jackson Harlow thanked me,” Doris whispered.

I patted her on the back. “You did good.”

“He touched my shoulder,” she breathed.

“Think they’ll let us keep the dresses? Jackson Harlow touched that dress!” Sylvie practically squealed.

Toby’s voice cut through the set. “Reset! Background, find your marks! We go again in sixty!”

We lined back up on the boardwalk, and I looked at Sylvie.

She’d been fine during the Doris situation—distracted, like the rest of us. But now, from the moment Toby called reset, all the color had drained from her face again. She was staring at the camera rig the way small animals stared at predators.

I leaned over. “Sylvie.”

“I’m fine,” she said. Too fast.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’m fine.”

“Quiet on set!”