The Cowboy and His Baby (The Wyoming Cowboys Series) - Softcover

Chapter One

Annie Grissom had been in the movie business for six years now, and she’d been asked to train animals to do a lot of things. She’d taught dogs to walk on their hind legs, bark a phrase that almost sounded like talking, play follow-the-leader, and any number of tricks that would look incredible with a bit of movie magic. Tricks that made audiences sit up in their chairs a little straighter and say to each other, “How did they do that?”

But she’d never, ever been asked to teach a dog to race through a grass fire.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sloane,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time that day. She was always apologizing on this particular movie, especially to the director. Annie paged through the script again. “I’m not sure I see where the whole ‘grass fire’ scene is in the movie.”

“It’s something I brainstormed last night. Since we’re doing a ranching movie, I thought it’d be perfect. Now, can you make Petey do this or do I need to find a new star for my picture?” He glared at her as if her reluctance was a huge annoyance.

“Spidey,” she murmured, trying to think as she pretended to flip through the script again.

“What?” Mr. Sloane yelled at her. Such a yeller. The yellers were always the worst to work for. Ironic because they usually got the job through nepotism or a family friend, not by their own merits, so they tended to scream quite a bit to ensure things were done the way they wanted. She’d signed on to this movie knowing Mr. Sloane wasn’t a well-known director, but she hadn’t thought he’d be this bad.

“My dog is Spidey,” Annie said, doing her best to keep the smile on her face. “And I don’t mean to be a jerk, but he gets nervous when people yell.”

“What?” Mr. Sloane blasted in her face, his nose purpling.

“That’s one of the rules in the animal care contract,” she continued. “No yelling on set, no touching the animal except by the trainer, and no outside food provided to the animal. All of these things can interfere with my work.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “Are you trying to tell me how to do my job, Miss . . .”

“Grissom,” she reminded him smoothly. “And I never would, no. I’m just the dog trainer. But I do know my dog, sir, and he gets very nervous around strong voices.”

Mr. Sloane grunted, crossing his arms over his chest and tucking the well-paged (and mostly ignored) script against his shirt. “So you’re telling me that if I lower my voice, you’ll get him to do the scene?”

She bit her lip. That was also part of the problem. “Complicated stunts can take a while. I need time to run him through the scene, get him comfortable with what’s happening around him. Even if I manage that, I’m not sure how he’s going to react to fire.”

“So you need more time,” he said flatly. “As usual. Why am I not surprised?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is a movie production, Miss Grissom. You know that time is money.”

“I know.” Annie also knew that these sorts of things were supposed to be given to her in advance so she could work on them with Spidey. Throwing them at her—and the dog—last moment wouldn’t be beneficial for anyone. “And I truly do appreciate that time is money. I just don’t think that he’s going to react well to a cold run of a grass fire.”

“You’re telling me you can’t get him to do it.” Mr. Sloane scowled at her, shifting on his feet as if he could make himself look more imposing. “I hired a dog trainer. If you’re not going to train the damn dog then what do we have you here for?”

Annie ignored his nasty attitude. He was stuck, and she knew it. They’d already filmed most of the scenes and he couldn’t switch dogs out. He’d insisted on having a nearly white Boston terrier with one black ear, and it had taken her forever to find one with the right coloration that was also a rescue. Spidey actually had no black ear at all, but makeup fixed that. Even now, he was sitting on the grass nearby, his head between his paws, watching her intently.

Such a good boy. He deserved better than this movie and this particular director. She changed her tone to soothing to try and deal with Mr. Sloane. “I know animals can be very difficult and stressful to work with on a film, Mr. Sloane. You’re doing a great job understanding how animals can be tricky.” Didn’t hurt to throw in a compliment or two even if they were lies. “But if we’re changing the scenes, I need to be notified in advance so I can get Spidey ready. This is a big deal.”

The director scowled at her and gave a little shake of his head. “This will be the scene that makes the movie. I need it to happen. If you can’t get it to work, you’re fired.”

Annie bit her lip. She knew what he was saying was hot air—this far into the production he couldn’t replace her or her dog. But it still made her anxious, because the more he yelled, the harder it was going to make it for every future scene. Spidey was already sensitive to raised voices and if he associated fear with Sloane and his set, she wouldn’t be able to get anything out of him, no matter how many treats she encouraged him with.

“Is there a problem?” A woman moved up next to them, her clipboard in hand, a polite smile on her face.

Annie nearly breathed a sigh of relief. The representative for the American Humane Association was on set today to ensure that the animals were being treated fairly, and she’d stepped in just in time. Of course, Annie couldn’t tattletale on the director—that was a sure way to get fired from this picture and every movie in the future forever and ever—but she could emphasize her point.

“Mr. Sloane and I were just discussing an upcoming stunt.” Annie pretended to page through the script, though she already had it memorized. “I have Spidey’s training scheduled down to the hour, Mr. Sloane.” Gosh, she was just full of lies this morning. “So if we’re putting in a wildfire scene, I need to know what stunts we’re removing so I can juggle things appropriately.”

The representative’s eyebrows went up. “Wildfire scene?” At Sloane’s terse nod, she gestured at the rest of the set. “With this many horses on set? Do you really think that’s wise? And the weather’s been so dry lately.”

“It’s all going to be very safe,” Sloane barked at her, and then suddenly there was a new focus for his ire.

Annie murmured something about going to work with Spidey and slipped away from the group, heading over to the covered umbrella set up on set. Wyoming was nothing but rolling plains and endless sunlight. Great for shooting, terrible for short-haired white dogs that sunburned at the drop of a hat.

Like poor Spidey.

Even now, her little buddy was waiting patiently under the umbrella in the shade. He loved basking in the sun but he also turned bright red underneath his white fur, so she’d trained him that he needed to wait for her under the umbrella. She just adored that little guy. Of all the dogs she’d worked with in the past, she had a soft spot for a few, and Spidey was at the top. He was smart, funny, eager to please . . . and had the weirdest little personality. Spidey loved people and horses and being on the movie set. However, he was terrified when people raised their voices, and certain objects set him off into a barking frenzy. Like . . . a ball. If she showed him a ball, he’d lose his mind, barking and snarling, until it was out of sight. It was the weirdest thing.

At least her little guy liked cheese.

She sat down on the grass next to him and petted one soft, un-dyed ear. “Who’s my best boy?”

His tail had been cropped off by his previous owners, so he had nothing to wag, but his hindquarters shook with excitement and he panted happily, his stubby snout turned up toward her with adoration.

Annie loved and snuggled the dog in the shade, trying to undo any anxiety that he might be experiencing due to Sloane’s yelling. Then, she pulled out the doggy sunblock and slathered him with a fresh round of it, trying to figure out how she was going to get Spidey to race through a burning plain when animals instinctively hated fire.

She sighed. It was something that could be done, with weeks of prep work . . . weeks that she didn’t have.

Maybe the director would change his mind again. After all, he had several times already. Hopefully she just needed to wait him out.

In the meantime, she stroked Spidey’s short, wiry fur and told him over and over what a good boy he was.

A lot of time on the set of a movie was spent waiting around. There were scenes to be set up, lighting that needed to hit just right, animals to be prepared for their spot on set, and actors, who could be more stubborn than any dog or horse. The lead actor for The Goodest Boy was a nice guy named Chad Weathers. Chad had a string of superhero movies that did well in the late 90s and then everything flopped after that. He’d been forced to take on roles like this one, where he played a cowboy with a talking dog who tries to help him find love. The script was saccharine sweet, and the dog trainer in Annie couldn’t understand why a rough-and-tumble cowboy in the Old West would have a Boston Terrier for a dog instead of something hardy, but hey, she wasn’t paid to think.

The director was in a rotten mood after his conversation with her, and Chad objected to some of the new scenes in his script, which meant everyone was walking around on tiptoes this afternoon. Annie did her best to stay out of all of it, working with Spidey on a few conversation commands. One scene in the movie involved the dog picking up a box with a wedding ring and setting it down carefully at Chad Weathers’s feet, so she’d been teaching Spidey that particular “fetch” trick and showered him with treats every time he did it right.

There was a quick scene with Spidey at Chad’s side as they walked through the Old West set, and then Chad yelled at the director and stormed off to his trailer. Sloane did the same, and that was pretty much the end of filming for the day.

Annie sighed, working another coat of sunblock over her charge. “No wonder we’re over budget,” she muttered to herself. “It’s not your fault, Spidey.”

“Definitely not,” said another voice, and Annie looked up to see Katherine approaching. The other woman waved, sitting cross-legged in the grass across from Annie and carefully away from Annie’s dog. “These two chuckleheads are making us all run over schedule. It ain’t the animals’ fault, that’s for damn sure.”

Katherine was the closest thing Annie had to a friend on the set. She tended to be a bit of a loner. After years of being dragged from movie set to movie set, most Hollywood kids either grew theatrical or grew introverted. Annie was the latter. But Katherine was from Boston, had the accent to boot, and had never met a stranger. She was an assistant to the horse trainers, which meant she spent most of her time picking up droppings or running errands, but she kept a cheery attitude and she loved animals. More than that, she respected the set rules and never tried to pet or feed Spidey, which Annie was grateful for. The big actors always thought the rules didn’t apply to them, and it was hard to argue with an Oscar-winner who was paid millions that he couldn’t pet her cute dog on the head.

Katherine was just as tired of the shenanigans on set as Annie was. She pulled off her heavy gloves and set them in her lap, taking a break under the shade of the umbrella.

“Are they still talking about the wildfire scene?” Annie wanted to know.

Katherine shook her head. “That certification lady talked him out of it. Said it was too dangerous for the horses.”

Annie said nothing, but her mouth twisted a little and she caressed Spidey’s round head again. Dogs never got as much respect on set as horses did.

“Now he’s talking about doing one long running shot of a cattle-roping scene,” Katherine said. “He wants a big payoff for the climax. Lots of horses. Lots of racing over the hills and scenery.”

Annie blanched. “Is Spidey supposed to be in that scene?” At Katherine’s nod, Annie sighed. “He’s brachycephalic. He can’t race for long distances without getting overheated. He’s not made for that sort of thing.” Just like she’d told them and told them a hundred times when they’d insisted on having a Boston terrier instead of a cattle dog, and now, well, here they were.

Katherine shrugged. “Maybe they can get a stunt dog for it if it’s a high overhead shot.”

“Maybe.” It’d be tricky to get the director to understand the need behind it, though.

“At any rate, Sloane’s cooped up with the writers and with Chad for the rest of the day. We’re free to go back to town.” She beamed at Annie. “A few of us are meeting up at the bar for some drinks. You should come. Celebrate the fact that we’re almost done with this picture and then we can work on a real movie. I hear one of the big studios wants to make a tentpole Western for summer release and they’ll be casting soon. Maybe they’ll need dogs.”

She smiled at Katherine, because it was sweet of her to think of Annie. It reminded her that not every set was full of bad people, and just because the director was difficult didn’t mean this wasn’t a good experience. “I’m not sure if I should go out tonight,” Annie said, hesitating. “I’m not much of a drinker, and Spidey can probably use some attention—”

“We won’t be out long,” Katherine said. “And Chad’s assistant is going. You could always put a bug in his ear about how a long, extended shot from a distance wouldn’t make Chad look nearly as heroic as some close-up cuts.”

“You know just what to say to get a girl to cave in, don’t you?”

“That I do,” Katherine said proudly. “Let’s get on the bus, go home and change, and see what kind of nightlife this tiny town has to offer.”

Annie bit back a sigh and studied Spidey’s little face, tracing a finger along the curve of his skull. His eyes were closed and he did look tired. He wouldn’t mind a few hours alone in his crate. “I guess I can pick him up some cheese while we’re in town.”

“After we get our drink on,” Katherine said firmly.

“After,” Annie agreed.

Chapter Two

“I see movie people,” Jordy joked, lifting his beer to his lips. “They’re everywhere. And they don’t even know they’re obnoxious.”

Dustin just snorted and shook his head. He played with the label on his own bottle of beer, using Jordy’s comment as an excuse to look around the tiny Painted Barrel Saloon. For a town of about two hundred folks, the bar got a surprising amount of activity, and with the outsiders swarming in to have a drink tonight, it was packed. Unlike Eli, who was hiding out back at the ranch with his pretty wife, Dustin enjoyed seeing new faces around town. Painted Barrel felt small enough most days, and new people brought new conversation. New women? Well, he was never averse to seeing a few new faces.

“You should find yourself a nice city girl to flirt with,” Old Clyde told Jordy. “One that’s not smart enough to realize you’re full of crap.”

Jordy just snickered, unoffended. “Wouldn’t mind meeting a girl,” he said, watching the female faces in t...