Bishop had managed dozens of stunts just like this one: a mounted kidnapping. They were pretty standard, a classictradition at this point. In the stunt, the villain’s man rides hard through the frame, scoops the girl, and she goes limp across the saddle while Bishop keeps his stride. It was brutal looking on camera, but relatively safe—especially if the horse did its job, which was to keep its stride and not let anything spook him.
Yeah. Bishop would be fine.
The risk was that Daniela wouldn’t go limp like she was supposed to…that she might kick on instinct. Bishop might spook in that situation, then she could go hurtling down on the other side, get trampled?—
Fuck me. Couldn’t think about that.
And I knew that with anyone else, I would feel fine. I would do my job, make the stunt happen, move on.
But I couldn’t let Millie’s best friend get hurt.
The stunt coordinator, a weathered guy named Dale who I'd worked with twice before, had walked me through the shot that morning. The villain—a professional named Rick Mercer, stunt guy turned actor, someone who'd done this a hundred times—would come in from the left at a canter. Daniela's job was to be standing in the right mark, let herself get grabbed around the waist, and go completely dead weight as she came up and over. Bishop would feel her land and keep moving. Dale's guy would control her position with one arm while managing the reins with the other.
Twenty feet of camera time. Maybe three seconds of actual action.
Three seconds where if she tensed up wrong she could spook Bishop, throw off Dale's rider, and hit the ground hard enough to end her shoot before it started.
I was waiting in the paddock when I saw Daniela coming across the dusty landscape, hat in hand. She looked authentic—just right for the part, her long dark hair in an intentionally messy braid, her eyes sharp even in the raging heat. The corset…the corset was doing a lot. Doing things that weren’t going to help me get this job done. She waved, and it broke the spell enough for me to wave back.
“Hey,” she said as she came closer. Bishop’s eyes flicked up toward her, but he didn’t react otherwise; he was good like that. “He’s beautiful.”
“He’s a professional.” I held out my hand for her hat and she gave it to me. I adjusted the brim, then handed it back. “The scene is three seconds of camera time. You’re going to feel like it’s longer.”
She put the hat on. "Okay."
"Dale's rider comes in from your left. You don't look at him until he's almost on you—that's Ellis's blocking, not mine. When he grabs you, I need you to do one thing."
"Go limp."
I frowned. “You already talk through this with Dale?”
She shook her head. “I did some research this morning between memorizing lines and background shots. I’ve been practicing in my trailer.”
"Practicing," I repeated.
"Mhm."
I looked at her for a second. "How do you practice going limp in a trailer."
She pressed her lips together like she was deciding whether to tell me. "I threw myself onto the bed a few times."
I stared at her.
"From standing," she added. "Just—let myself fall. Practiced not catching myself."
I cocked an eyebrow. "And how'd that go?”
"I have a bruise on my hip but I think I've got the concept down."
"The concept," I said.
"Sawyer." She crossed her arms. "I'm a professional."
"I know you are." I stepped closer. "But there's a difference between falling onto a mattress and going dead weight over a moving horse while someone's got one arm around your waist and the other on the reins. Your body doesn't know what's happening. It's going to make decisions you didn't authorize."
She considered this for a second. Then she uncrossed her arms, let her hands fall to her sides, and just—went.
Not a fall, exactly. More like every cable in her body got cut at once. Her shoulders dropped, her chin dipped, her knees softened, and if I hadn't been standing close enough to catch her she would have gone straight to the ground.
