She hums. “Yeah. How tragic. That poor little girl.”
“I know,” I whisper, glancing out the window to endless miles of dirt road and rolling green pasture on the other side. “I’m going out there today to meet them,” I tell her, my stomach twisting from the truth. “I’m a bit nervous to meet him.” I roll my lips together, then correct myself. “Them, I’m nervous to meet them.”
“You make a great first impression. You’re smart, a quick learner, and most importantly, you are an incredible filmmaker, Quinn. Don’t be nervous, you’ve got nothing to benervous about.” What she’s saying is, don’t let what Devin did to me get in my head. Not again.
I can’t help but smile. I love my mom. She’s the best. And she’s right—I am an incredible filmmaker. My last film not getting nominated for the Indie Spirit Award wasn’t an indication of my filmmaking capabilities but more so, an indication that it’s time for a break from relationships. I was so focused on it and him that I let my work slip.
Iwon’tlet that happen again.
“Thanks, Mom,” I sigh, throwing my legs off the side of the bed. “I should get going. It’s nearly eight in the morning here, which is basically like lunchtime for ranch folk.”
Mom laughs. “Okay, good luck with Landry and Sadie. Break a lens.”
“Will do.”
I stand at the sink, washing dishes in the basin under cool water as Mabel wipes up the table after our brunch. “I’m surprised Landry agreed to being filmed,” she says out of nowhere as I restack her china on the open-air shelving.
“Yeah?” I take a second to pull my hair behind my back, wrapping it in a wad using a pink velvet scrunchie. My favorite scrunchie. “Why’s that?”
She lifts a shoulder, dragging her green-and-white checkered dish towel around the tabletop a few times. “I don’t know, I guess because he’s a real private guy.”
“Yeah?” My skin heats learning that he’s private, which is absolutely ridiculous because I have no business getting the hots for a man I don’t even know. A dad nonetheless. Someone’s father cannot be getting me moist. Not to mention I’m here to make a great film and stay focused. Still,my eyes flick to Mabel as I wait with bated breath for her response.
“Even before,” she says, leaving off the terrible part of that sentence that we are both fully aware of. “He was always private. A man like Landry doesn’t do anything without reason, so I’m guessing this film company of yours is paying him. Am I right?”
I nod, remembering one of the attached documents in the first email. It wasn’t something we normally do, or not anything I’ve seen in the three years I’ve been at United Broadcasting. I opened it once, and after scanning it for a minute or so, realized it was a payment contract between UBS and Landry Vaughn. I closed it before looking at any amount, but she’s not wrong. He is getting paid.
Shrugging, I tell Mabel the utter truth. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to answer that honestly, and I’m on thin ice at work.” I pout. “Just being honest.”
Mabel blinks at me a few times before straightening, tossing the rag onto the counter and moving to the coat rack near the back door. “I know you’re honest. I see that in you.” She plucks a red hat off the rack, a cowboy hat that looks like it’s real familiar with the Texas sun. “Here,” she says, handing it to me. “Now, go get dressed, put this on, and I’ll take you to ’em.”
After I tried and failed to mount Mabel’s favorite horse John Wayne, I convinced her to let me drive us to the Vaughn Ranch. She chatted away the entire drive, filling me in on the town, the residents, the slow way of life and the excitement that the rodeo draws out of everyone.
As we approach, I don’t double-check with Mabel that shehas the right address because it’s insulting to a native, I’m sure. But I am surprised when she wags her finger out the windshield, pointing to the oversized, aged farmhouse in the middle of a massive ranch.
A single cowboy and his daughter living a quiet life in Sable Sky, Texas? I envisioned something quaint. With a stream, maybe, or one of those old-timey windmills made of repurposed metal. Maybe a dog tied to the porch and some lavender growing in a windowsill. A few windows, and a back porch meant for watching sunsets and flipping burgers.
What I see instead is something much grander. A large farmhouse, three stories tall, with a sprawling property enclosed in white fencing as far as the eye could see. And at one point, I couldn’t see the fence anymore, and that’s when I asked Mabel how much property the Vaughn’s owned.
“The house and land are fourth generation,” she says as I slow the car, taking in every bit of the property as we approach. “Couple hundred acres. I don’t know the exact amount. But it’s big. A lot for the two of ’em to take care of.” She motions to the house, where the white paint is peeling off slats of wood in thick strips, where one shutter hangs from a nail, the screen door looking worse for wear with a strip of duct tape along the middle. “They keep it tidy till they can do more.”
My mind gets stuck onthey. “Who?”
Mabel blinks at me, then realizes what I’m referring to, giving a short chuckle. “Oh, I meant Landry and Tate. Tatum Collier. He and his family live there,” she says, pointing beyond the stable to a second farmhouse I hadn’t spotted earlier, at least three football fields from the Vaughn ranch house. “Tate and Landry grew up together. Tate works the property with him, to help.”
I put the car in park, and we get out. “All right, well, nowthat we’re here, you don’t need to hear it from me!” Mabel says as she thumps her closed first along the screen door, which rests over an old farmhouse door, blue paint peeling off in long, weathered strips.
My stomach tightens nervously as she knocks. I think this is the first documentary I’ve worked on that has a real human story attached to it, and I feel a rightful pressure to honor that story for this stranger and his dream. Not to mention I want to land on my feet and show Devin and Camel Toe that their affair didn’t break me. That I’m unshakeable.
Mabel lifts her fist to knock again, but heavy footfalls from inside give her pause, and as the floorboards creak, the door rattles as the steps grow louder. A moment later, the door is open and from behind the rickety screen door stands Landry Vaughn, even bigger than he looked when I saw him from afar the other day.
Piercing blue eyes land on me from beneath the brim of a worn cowboy hat. My breath catches, and I lift my hand in a silent hello as Mabel greets him.
“Howdy, Landry, this is Quinn. She’s staying at the inn. She’s the one shootin’ the movie about you. Thought I’d bring her down here to meet the star himself.”
My heart can’t contain itself behind my ribs. “Hi, Landry. Nice to meet you.”
He steps out, using the tip of his boot to nudge the screen door open. One rough, worn hand comes to his hat, and he drags it slowly from his head, revealing a mess of dark hair, a bit longer than I expected. He runs his hand through it silently, then extends his arm, inviting us into his house.
