“This is stupid, right?” I asked Eddie.
My grip on the steering wheel tightened as I followed the battered truck down the gravel road. It’s wheels sputtered dust up into the air, coating our rental in a think layer of that same red-brown that covered the truck.
When Eddie didn’t respond I turned to glare at him—what, like I was going to drive off the road and into… a tumbleweed?
I found myself staring into my own reflection, distorted by the camera lens.
I clenched my teeth. “Turn it off.”
“This is good stuff,” he insisted, not following my orders.
“Turn. It. Off.”
With a dramatic sigh, he lifted the camera off his shoulder and set it in his lap. I glanced over to make sure he had actually turned it off. It only takes one candid video on YouTube to make a girl permanently paranoid about being recorded off the record.
“It’s not stupid,” he said. “Crazy? Yes. But not stupid.”
“You’ll have to cover some of my duties.” The car hit a rough spot, knocking me against the door. “When I’m on camera—“ I could not believe I was actually going to do this. “—you need to make shooting decisions and make sure things roll smoothly off screen.”
“Don’t worry,” Eddie said. “We’ll make it work.”
If it were any other cameraman, I wouldn’t even consider it. I was a bit of a control freak—okay, a lot of a control freak—and the very thought of handing over some of my production duties to someone else made my neck itch. But if anyone could step in and—with my never-too-far-away guidance—take my place, it was Eddie.
Off to the left, a little ways down the road, I could see the house. I wasn’t sure what I expected, maybe something one story with lots of wood and sweeping views of cattle pasture, but this was a far cry from anything I might have imagined.
The square-shaped building stood two stories tall with a porch spanning the front side and the entire thing was made of stone. Big stones, little stones, beige to brown and every shade in between. The second story had three small windows that peeked out over the roof of the inviting porch—with the requisite swing at one end.
Eddie lifted the camera back onto his shoulder and filmed our arrival.
I pulled in next to the truck and cut the engine. For a moment—a long moment—I considered not getting out. The list of reasons to give up and go home scrolled through my mind like closing credits. But as ridiculous and, okay, scary as this whole thing was, it was also a means to an end. Save the show, save my career.
Like I had another choice.
Shoving the last of my reservations aside, I opened the door.
Before I could set one foot on the ground, a massive weight thudded into my shoulder and knocked me sideways into the passenger seat.
“Babe!” Ty shouted. “Get off her!”
Something wet smeared over my ear. I screamed.
Then, suddenly, the weight was gone.
I looked up and saw Ty holding a massive black… thing by the collar.
“Bad dog,” he said in a stern voice. “No jumping on visitors.”
“That’s a dog?” I demanded. It looked more like a bear.
The black thing stood up on two legs, placing a paws on Ty’s shoulders.
“This is Babe,” Ty said with a laugh as the dog tried to lick his face. “She’s a Bull Mastiff-Newfie mix.”
“Tyson James Haywood.” Genevieve stared at her brother, eyes wide with shock. “Did your dog attack our guest?”
“She means well.” He pushed at the beast’s chest and—amazingly—it dropped back down to all fours. “She gets overexcited is all.”
He snapped his fingers, and the dog sat.
Then Ty stepped toward me, his hand moving like he was going to offer to help me out of the car. Still a little off-kilt after the last time our hands touched, I hurried to push myself to my feet.
“It’s fine,” I said. “No damage.”
A flash of movement in my peripheral vision told me Eddie had caught every last moment on tape. Perfect.
“Come on,” Genevieve said, “let’s get your things and get you settled.”
Yes, let’s.
I slammed the door shut, popped the trunk, and walked around to pulle out my carry-on suitcase.
Ty reached past me and grabbed the giant black duffle.
“Let me help you with that.”
“Oh, that’s not mine,” I said, sliding my cameraman an cheeky look. “That’s all Eddie’s.”
He blew me a mocking kiss.
I held up my bag. “This is mine.”
A decade of work-related travel had trained me well. I could live pretty much indefinitely out of small suitcase, provided I could do laundry every week and the climate extremes were moderate.
From the look of surprise on Ty’s face, I’d say I impressed him.
Genevieve, on the other hand, despaired, “That’s all you have?’
“Yes,” I said proudly. “I’m a low-maintenance traveler.”
She shook her head. “I bet we’re about the same size,” she said, studying my frame. “You can raid my closet.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I insisted. “I have everything I need.”
With a shrug that clearly said she questioned my mental state, Genevieve turned and headed toward the house. Babe and Ty followed close on her heels.
“I’ll be in shortly,” I said as I pulled my phone out of my purse. “I just need to call New York and check in. Let them know we arrived safely and where we’re staying.”
“You’ll have a hard time with that,” Ty called out. “No cell signal for miles.”
Was he joking? Everywhere had cell signal.
A quick check of the signal meter on my phone, though, proved him right. No signal? No signal? This really was the middle of nowhere.
“You can use the land line,” Genevieve said. “We have a phone in the kitchen.”
“A land line?” I muttered as I headed for the front door.
I didn’t know anyone who had a landline anymore. I hadn’t had one in years.
Eddie stood on the porch, filming the my progress.
I stared straight into the camera and asked, “How many days until we return to civilization?”
“Seventeen,” Eddie said, though I couldn’t tell if he was laughing or sympathizing. “Seventeen days.”
Surely I could endure anything for seventeen days. Even no cell signal.
Andy's Playlist #4: Cupid's Got a Shotgun by Carrie Underwood
Tune in tomorrow for the next installment.
