Chapter 6

"Something going on between you two?"

The question came from Kathryn, who walked up holding a bottle of water. She wore her hair in an elaborate bun, a clean dress, nothing of the trauma of a couple nights ago on her face.

But maybe, like him, she'd learned how to compartmentalize.

"Me and Bucky?" Spenser stood back as Bucky swung the lasso around his head. He'd set up a chair from the craft services tent in the field behind the set and had grabbed a lasso from the prop department, spent the last couple days teaching Bucky how to spin the rope above his head and throw it over the top of the chair. "You're getting it, kid, good job."

"No. You and the Hotshot."

The Hotshot.

His gaze went to Emily, standing behind the cameras, holding a fire extinguisher. Not a high chance that the squibs they'd set to pop in the saloon would result in a flame, but now that she knew how to read a script, and the Scene Breakdown sheet, she'd been hyper vigilant.

Swen largely ignored her, but frankly, everyone felt a little better having a firefighter on set.

"No. We're just friends. I taught her how to read a script."

"You two are spending a lot of time together." Kathryn took a sip of water, then turned to watch the scene behind them playing out. "A little off set romance happening?"

The Deacon character had donned the sheriff's tin now and was embroiled in a heated conversation with the villain, Duke Irish. In a moment, a few of Irish's cronies would show up and spatter the street with bullets.

"Really, she's just here doing her job."

"Yep."

"What?"

"I just see the way she looks at you."

"What way is that?"

"Like you're made of stardust. Are you sure she's not a crazy fan?"

He frowned at her. "What? No. Not even a little. Great throw, Bucky."

Bucky looked over at him, grinned, his two front teeth missing. "Thanks, Spenser."

He turned back to Kathryn. "She watched the show, once upon a time. Everyone did. Doesn't make her a crazy fan."

She raised an eyebrow. "Just be careful."

He gave her a look.

"Don't get me wrong. I like her. She not only saved me from being burned, but yesterday, we hung out a little. She's nice. Easy to be around."

Yes, that was it. She was easy to talk to.

Easy to laugh with.

Easy to sing karaoke with. And probably that was the something between them. She was easy to be around. Made him feel like…himself. Which was strange because he was still trying to figure out who that was, really.

But he wasn't falling for her.

"Spense, I hate to be the one to say this, but you need to think about your future. After this—what? Hollywood, or back to the ranch? If you're headed back to a normal life, that's one thing. But if you have your eyes set on Hollywood, you need to be careful. You don't need a repeat of?—"

"I know."

"Fine. You know what it takes to make it. Focus. Commitment. And, you have to be able to trust the people around you. Which means being careful about who you let into your world."

He blinked at her. "Emily is not a crazy fan stalker. She's a normal person. If anything, I need to protect her from my world."

"Also my point—she might not belong in your world. This isn't real—it's a movie set. Remember that."

She walked away, Spenser wordless in her wake, just as the set PA, a skinny guy named Gil, came up with a clipboard and today's shooting schedule. "I need to grab Bucky for a quick blocking rehearsal."

Spenser walked over to Bucky, who surrendered the rope. "Can we do that again?"

"Tomorrow, probably. I think your day is done after the scene in the livery stable."

He spotted his mom, Gemma, heading over to grab his hand. Nice woman, really. Unfamiliar with set life, however, and maybe he shouldn't be so hard on her. Not easy to keep an eight-year-old quiet or trapped in his trailer all day.

Bullets—the squibs—shot off, and nearby, in the corral, horses spooked. They started to run in circles, and for a second, he was back on the street, calming the horse, Emily protecting the kid.

They did make a good team.

On the street, Win was a pro, dodging bullets, firing back his own. A cowboy rode by, fell off his horse. The other continued on, out of town. Win came out, looked after him, then ran to the sheriff's office.

"Cut!" Cosmos shouted.

The cowboy on the street didn't get up, and in a moment, the team medic ran out to him. Spenser headed over to the set.

The stuntman sat up, touched his shoulder, grimacing.

"It looks dislocated." Emily came to stand beside him.

"Yep," Spenser said. "Comes with the job. It happened a couple times to my dad. He had this trick on how to reset it. How are you doing?"

She was cute today, dressed in her hotshot uniform. She wore a handkerchief over her blonde hair, a pair of sunglasses. He didn't know why, but he found it a little hot.

If a guy were noticing that sort of thing.

"Great. Indigo spoke to me today."

"Really?"

"Yep. Said, ‘get out of the way'. But then she looked at me and gave me a sort of grimacy smile, so that's good, right?"

"First ADs are the bad guys. They have a lot on their shoulders." On the street, the stuntman got up, grimaced, headed off set.

"That's right. You said your dad was a stuntman."

"Yeah. A legend, really. He died in an accident on set. But he saved one of the child actors, so he was a hero."

"I'm so sorry. That's rough."

"Yeah. For a while, I really wanted to be like him. A real hero, not someone who just acts like a hero."

"Maybe being a hero isn't just doing, but inspiring people to do. I think there were plenty of kids inspired by Quillen Cleveland's determination to find his father."

He looked at her. "Really?"

"Yeah. You made perseverance so cool. Or at least, Quillen did. And then when he found his dad, it was…awesome."

"That was my idea. The writers wanted him dead."

She made a face. "Talk about trauma. Three billion sci-fi fans in counseling."

He laughed. "I doubt that."

"Don't."

He looked at her. That was another thing he liked about Emily—she somehow knew how to make him feel like he might actually be the guy people saw on the screen. Brave. Smart. Heroic.

"I think you're right. I might have been in counseling myself if we hadn't found him."

She nodded. "Maybe in a way, Quillen's quest to find his dad was your own quest to say goodbye to yours."

He stared at her, blinking, the words finding a home. "Yeah. I…hadn't thought about that."

On set, Bucky and Indigo walked over to the livery stable attached to the corral. The horses were still spooked, but Indigo seemed to not notice, moving Bucky into place. He was only supposed to stand in the door, watch Deacon saddle his horse. Ask him where he was going, to which Deacon said something heroic, and then Dusty would watch as he rode away.

But from the corral, a horse reared up, still agitated.

Just like that, Bucky dropped to a crouch, his hands over his ears, and screamed.

Indigo stared at him in horror.

Gemma squatted next to him, her hands on his arms, stricken.

Emily took off. She ran over to Bucky, still screaming, and crouched next to him. She put her hand on his back and leaned in.

Spenser had followed her and now heard her voice, calm, quiet. "You're safe, Bucky. You're safe."

He'd stopped screaming, but his breaths fell over each other, too fast. Behind them, the horses whinnied, snorted, fidgety.

"Pick him up, Spense," Emily said, and he glanced at Gemma, who nodded.

"Can I pick you up, Bucky?" he asked. Bucky nodded.

He swooped the kid into his arms, and Emily directed him inside the livery stable, away from the commotion. The place had been stocked with fresh straw for the shot, and he set Bucky down, sat with him.

Emily crouched in front of him. Put her hands on his shoulders. "Okay, breathe with me, Bucky. In. And out. In…and out. This will pass. You're going to be fine. You're safe."

Bucky looked up at her, those big green eyes in hers. Gemma crouched beside her, rubbing his back.

"You're doing great. How about telling me five things you can see."

He looked up. "A horseshoe."

"Good. Something else?"

"My mom."

"Mmmhmm."

"A saddle."

"Good."

"A hay bale." He looked at Spenser. "Spenser?"

"Yep, Spenser is here." Now she too looked at him, met his gaze, something sweet in it.

And his heart simply turned over. We need you.

"Okay, some smells?"

"Horse poop." He made a face. His breath had slowed.

"Manure. Good. Anything else?"

"Dirt. And Spenser."

"Yeah, Spenser does smell."

"I don't smell."

"He does smell. Like dirt and sweat and maybe even horse poop. Yuck." She held her nose.

"Hey!"

Bucky laughed.

"What do you hear?"

The thump of his heartbeat? The rushing sound of something slipping out of his control?

"Birds."

"Birds. Good. Anything else?"

Cosmos had come into the barn, along with Lincoln and Indigo, and even Winchester.

"Horses," he said quietly, his breath shivering.

"Yes, horses. The horses are locked in the corral, where they're staying. They won't hurt you. You're safe. Right, Spenser?"

"Right." He looked at Cosmos. "What if I came in the barn with him? I know Hawk is supposed to be with Blossom right now, but maybe I come in with Bucky and we watch Deacon ride out together?"

Cosmos' mouth tightened, but he nodded. "That could work." He came up to Bucky. "You think you could do this scene if Spenser is here?"

Bucky wiped his cheeks. Nodded. "Can she stay?" He pointed to Emily. "I like her."

Yeah, what the kid said.

Cosmos smiled. "Sure."

Emily held out her hand and Bucky took it as he climbed out of the straw. Then he held the other out to Spenser.

He took it. And they walked out of the barn together.

A team.

That's all.

For sure he completely ignored Kathryn Canary, standing in the door frame, shaking her head.

* * *

"I heard you were a bit of a hero today on the set."

Emily looked up from where she sat at the table in the office of the Jude County Fire team, drawings spread out in front of her. She held a red pen, her glass of iced tea sweating onto a coaster.

Outside, the sun had set, the moon had risen, the stars sprinkled the tarmac of the fire station with a dusting of silver. A cool night, given the heat of the day, a slight breeze ticking up.

It took a second to register Conner's words. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He wore a pair of gray canvas pants, a T-shirt with JCHS on the breast, his dark blond hair cut short for the season. "Liza was picking up ribs tonight for dinner and said she talked to Gemma, who was also in getting food. Said that Bucky had some sort of meltdown on set."

"Just a smidgen of PTS. He was scared by a horse on set a few days ago, and I think he just freaked out. He'll be okay."

Helped, too, that Spenser had been there, helping her calm him. She might find herself breathing more calmly with Spenser around too.

Or not. Because something about the way he looked at her…

As if he liked her…really liked her.

Not acting.

But really, who knew?

"She said you did some cool technique to calm him down."

"The Five-Four-Three-Two-One. It's actually a focus technique I learned from a trauma specialist. Helps to focus on your surroundings, calm your breathing. Remind you that you're safe."

"You're pretty good at that."

"Psychology degree. And years of field work." She winked.

"Sounds like assigning you to the movie set wasn't a terrible idea."

She shrugged and smiled.

"And that smile has nothing, I'm sure, to do with the fact that you and Spenser Storm seem to be friends."

She looked at him.

"JoJo said he came over the other night."

"Your spy network is exhaustive."

"How else am I going to file my reports to your father?"

Her mouth opened.

He held up his hand. "Kidding. Mostly." But he winked. "Still, anything going on between you and Storm? Do I need to go up there and have a what-are-your-intentions Uncle chat?"

"Now I'm going to have nightmares, thanks."

He laughed.

"For the weekly report, you can tell my father that nothing is going on. We're friends."

Conner raised an eyebrow, arms folded.

"Please. He's a movie star."

"Whose life you saved."

"You think he's my friend because he feels guilty?"

His eyebrows raised. "What? No. Just—he's not a superhero. He's a regular guy, that's all. Can't he fall for a pretty hotshot?"

She rolled her eyes.

"What?"

"It's just…no. He makes me laugh. And he's charming, but…no." Although today, when he'd taken Bucky's hand, then looked at her, something felt…right.

Real.

Safe.

She'd sort of hoped he'd motor up to her house tonight, but when she left, the light was burning in his trailer, so maybe he was rehearsing.

And really, they were just work friends. Nothing more.

Even with his rather beautiful rendition of "A Thousand Miles."

"Well, maybe remember that he's going to finish up this movie and head back to Hollywood, so don't lose your heart to him."

"Oh, it's way too late for that." But she winked at him. "However, I do promise not to hop on the back of his motorcycle and ride away into the horizon."

"He has a motorcycle?"

"Yeah, a vintage looking Victory. Very hot."

"I think I'll keep that out of my daily report." He reached out and flipped a chair around, sat on it. "What are you working on?"

"I'm just trying to figure out what equipment we need for the barn fire tomorrow. I'm glad you're still here—I think we need the water truck to come out, and maybe a team of five, at least." She pointed to marks on the drawing. "They can stand here and still be out of the camera's view. The fire is mostly smoke, and the main blaze will be in two drums set inside the door—they're not actually burning the barn down. But it is a barn with straw and hay, and I'd like the team to wet it down really well before the fire starts. And, of course, to be on hand if anything goes south."

Conner moved the schematic toward him, perused it. "So, these are the fire drums?"

"Yeah. It's supposed to look like there's fire coming from the main doors—our hero runs inside to rescue Dusty. I'm not sure he's going to be the one in the fire after today. I think they'll run the scene without the fire, and then do it with the fire, and composite them together. The magic of film making."

"You sound like a pro."

"No. Just a lot of time listening to Swen and his team. They have it largely under control. I'm just wanting some backup. After the near miss at the field?—"

"What near miss?"

"Long story, but a grass fire nearly got out of control. We stopped it, but Swen is taking no chances with the barn fire. I am learning a lot, though. Shooting a movie is tedious, long hours and lots of retakes. And just because it's acting doesn't mean the trauma isn't real. It might even be more real because they know they are acting, but they experience the same emotions as if they weren't—otherwise it wouldn't feel real on the set. The difference is, they don't get to deconstruct it. They have to shrug it off."

"You sound like a therapist."

"I talked with Kathryn Canary yesterday for a long time about her different roles. She once zip-lined off a tower of some historic German church only to have the brakes fail. Scared her to death. And then she was nearly burned up on the set. Clearly, bad things happen to her, too."

He frowned at her. "Bad things."

"You know. The train crash. The kidnapping. You were there."

"Emily, that was nearly twenty years ago."

She lifted her shoulder. "I'm just always aware that around the next corner, disaster waits."

His mouth opened. Closed. "No wonder you're twirling your hair." He reached up and touched a snarl where she'd worked her hair into a knot. "Next thing you know, you'll be yanking it out."

"That was one semester, in seventh grade."

"Right after your little brother was born."

She reached up, touched the rat's nest. Made a face.

"Emily. Fear is believing that evil is in control of your life. Your future. But I happen to know that you are a woman of faith. And faith says that God is the one in charge of your life."

"I know." She patted her head. "I just want to be prepared."

He considered her for a moment. "I keep running through that incident, a week ago, when you ran toward the fire to rescue Bucky and Storm. And it was brave, for sure. But also, incredibly impulsive. That kind of behavior is dangerous—not just for you, but for your crew."

"It was an instinct."

"I get that. But knowing you—it's also you kicking your fear in the teeth."

"Of course I am. I'm Lacey Montgomery's daughter. I'm not going to let fear win."

"Fear wins when it makes you do something stupid. When it makes you act outside of wisdom. God does not give us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and a sound mind."

"Listen. Fear shows up, and I can't let it hold me hostage. I have to fight back."

"Or, you let God fight your battles. You rebuke the fear, don't let it control you. When you live in trauma and in fear, you live outside the presence of God in your life. And without God, your soul is not well. Lies win. And that's when we make bad decisions."

Conner pushed the papers back to her.

"You experienced a trauma, that's for sure. But you are not a victim anymore. You are a survivor. More than that, you're a daughter of God, in His hands. And that changes everything. Prepare, but don't live in fear."

"I'm just doing my job."

"I'm glad you are on the team, Emily. You passed training without a hiccup. But I can't quite figure out why you're doing this, and not, I don't know…"

"Working for my dad on his SAR team? Yeah, that's easy. Because he doesn't want me."

Conner's mouth opened, and oops, probably she shouldn't have said that to his best friend.

"Emily, I?—"

"Sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that. I just mean…he thinks I'm going to get hurt." She lifted her shoulder. "Now who is living in fear?" She smiled.

He didn't. "Your dad wants you on the team, Emily. But I happen to know that he thinks that God has something else for you."

Emily drew in a breath. "Shouldn't I be the judge of that?"

"Should you?"

A beat.

"What's in charge here—fear, or faith? Trust or run?"

She said nothing. Frankly, she'd never even considered the question.

"I'm not saying you're not brave, Emily. In fact, you're one of the bravest people I know. But maybe, there's something deeper inside that you haven't yet confronted."

"Now who's the therapist."

"Right. Well maybe it's just your godfather sharing with you a little of what he's learned in his life." He pressed a hand to her shoulder. "I also promised your dad that you wouldn't get hurt. So, please, don't make me a liar."

"I won't."

He got up. "I'll send half the crew up with you tomorrow morning. Keep the movie from burning down the town."

"Thanks, Uncle Conner."

He smiled, then headed back to his office.

She stacked the papers, then put them in her backpack and headed outside.

The moon was up and full and casting down on the parking lot. ‘What's in charge here? Fear or Faith?' And for a moment she was six years old, hiding behind a tree, hearing a voice calling to her in the darkness, asking herself the very same question. Trust or run?

The problem was, the secret was, once upon a time, she had trusted.

And that was the terrible truth she couldn't seem to wedge out of her heart.

What happened when you trusted…and your world still turned into a nightmare?