Because of it, my film did not place in the Indie Film Festival, and I am personally responsible for that. I let caring about a man who cheats on me cloud my creative judgment, because I was so overwhelmed with pain.
I’m so angry with myself now.
Mabel tells me the love of her life is still alive and still in town, but refuses to tell me more. I love the way she teases me with the juiciest facts, and spills entirely about others. When she pries into the exact reason I’m here to film the rodeo, I tell her just what she wants to know, knowing full well she’ll tell the whole town tomorrow.
I’m going to be here for the next four months filming.
I need confidence to pry into people’s lives and become part of this place long enough to tell Landry’s story. With my shoulders back, I tell Mabel why I’m here.
“Well, you know I’m a filmmaker, I told you that on my booking. But… I’m here to document Landry Vaughn and his comeback.” I stand up a little straighter, feeling compelled to tether on the next part, especially after everything I read about him last night, when I looked him up in bed during a bout of insomnia. “And his win.”
Mabel’s smile is both wide and also proud. And I feel proud, oddly, for making her proud. “We’re Landry Vaughn fans in this town.”
“The whole town is?” I’m impressed, even for a small town. There were even loyalty divisions in the town onFriday Night Lights, after all.
She nods. “Yeah. In fact?—”
I stop her, placing my hand on her arm. “Can I get out my camera? Record?”
Mabel reaches behind her, and pats on the couch. “We’ll sit here. I’ll turn the lamps on. The lighting will be great.”
Not more than five minutes later am I watching her through the fold-out screen on my Panasonic Lumix. “Okay. Where were we?”
She touches her hair, and warmth blooms in my chest, and immediately, heat stings the backs of my eyes. The tip of my nose burns. I love starting a good documentary so much. I love this process of getting to know something—a cause, an event, a person, whatever it is. It excites me. It enthralls me. It makes parts of me come alive that never have the chance to exist otherwise.
And for a second, I feel guilty. I feel bad that I came here thinking of Devin and how angry I am at him. How I made this about something else entirely, when the whole time, it’sbeen about this. The story. The person. Landry Vaughn. His return to rodeo. This is aboutThe Comeback Rider.
“Ready, sweetie?” Mabel blinks at me, softly giving me a moment to process the gravity of what’s to come. And I fear something terrible is to come, as Mabel clutches a Kleenex between her hands, one she produced from her pocket a moment ago.
“Ready.” I double-check that everything looks great, and give her the nod.
Mabel talks and my heart breaks.
Mabel and I spend the next day together in town, checking out some locations for potential footage. She takes me to the rodeo grounds, and my pulse hammers excitedly at the sight of the dusty chutes, the weathered bleachers, and smell of dirt—I can imagine all of these things coming together on an electric, momentous night. The hairs on my arms lift, and suddenly, I understand the allure of the arena, the pull of a town all rooting for the same man, the power of the show. I close my eyes and envision a handsome cowboy, a brokenhearted, strong-willed man, riding a bull, muscles flexed, clean-shaven jaw on display under a broiling Texas sun.
Yes, please.
I open my eyes. “I’ll definitely be filming here a lot.” I turn to Mabel. “Right?”
She nods. “Right. This is where the main event is. Though he won’t train here.”
I nod my head. “I have a lot to learn.” I’m nervous. I don’t want to fail myself, but now, I don’t want to fail poor Landry Vaughn.
We turn to leave, on to our next location on her list, when Mabel stops me. “There he is.”
She points off toward a man in the distance setting up a wooden booth near the entrance. “Landry Vaughn. He’s probably helping set up the Collier jewelry booth. He’s like that, real helpful. Always.”
I blink at the man in the distance, the only man there. The man that is undoubtedly Landry Vaughn.
Strong shoulders wide-set, strapping chest bubbling with muscle, thick scruff coating what appears to be a strong jaw, and piercing blue eyes, like a clear sky on a perfect day. My mouth forms a smile when I look at him. It’s a reaction, like sneezing when pepper is put beneath your nose.
He’s handsome, he’s huge, and he’s the dreamy man I’ll be filming for the next few months.Jesus, thank you.
“C’mon now, sugar, you just about ready?” he asks, the depth and low timbre of his voice taking me off guard. Of course his voice is masculine and heady, the type that makes me want to bake a loaf of bread and bounce a baby on my hip. Still, I’m rendered immobile and completely speechless as I watch the broad-backed cowboy shove up his sleeves, ink peeking out from beneath. My stomach clenches, and just when I expect a gorgeous woman to appear from behind the stall, a girlfriend or “friend”, instead a little girl runs out, long chestnut hair in loose curls, blue jeans covered in dirt, over-sized brown boots eating up her feet.
My chest squeezes. Mabel filled me in about Landry last night, so between my internet research this morning and my real-life tabloid source, I’m well aware that she is Sadie Vaughn, Landry’s little girl.
I don’t know why the sight of them steals my breath. I don’t know why tears prick the backs of my eyes as he ruffles a filthy hand along the top of her head. I don’t know why Ifeel unprepared to meet them right now, without my camera, or notes.
