brakes as a galloping white horse and its rider suddenly materialized before him. The car skidded wildly, careered across the dusty track, lurched through a stand of prickly pear and came to a sickening stop inches from a pile of huge boulders. The engine coughed, coughed again and faded to silence.
After what seemed an eternity, Zach reached out and switched off the ignition. He took off his mirrored glasses, dropped them on the dashboard, undid his seat belt and only then remembered to breathe.
The white horse was gone, racing across the barren hilltop toward the far horizon. The horse’s rider was rising slowly to his knees in the dirt.
Zach muttered, rose in his seat and vaulted from the car.
“Hell, man,” he said as he hurried toward the fallen rider, “are you okay?”
“Yeah,” the rider said, after a minute, “yeah, I’m okay. You?”
Zach laughed, but it sounded more like a croak. “Except for a pair of wobbly legs, I’m fine.”
The rider stared after the cloud of dust, all that was now visible of the galloping horse.
“Guess he’s gone,” he said unhappily.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t see you until the last minute, and——”
“What do you mean, you didn’t see?”
Zach turned around. A small crowd of people was rushing toward him, headed by a little man with a goatee and a pencil-thin mustache.
“You would have to blind not to have seen Horace!”
“Look, pal, I already said I was sorry. It isn’t my fault that——”
“What’s going on here?”
A woman was pushing her way through the crowd. Zach thought she was a woman, at any rate. It was hard to tell. She had on a wide-brimmed hat that covered her hair and most of her face, a dusty, oversize khaki shirt and a pair of shapeless jeans. The only thing about her that was clearly visible was her anger.
“Well?” The woman brushed past the little guy with the goatee, slapped her hands on her hips and glared at Zach from under the brim of her hat. “What’s going on here?”
Zach looked past her. He could see cameras now, and mike booms, and lots of other equipment he couldn’t identify. If nothing else, he thought with relief, he’d found the Triad set. His gaze returned to the shapeless female standing before him. Yes. He’d found the set, and Frances Cranshaw.
“There’s been a minor accident,” Zach said pleasantly, “nothing to get excited about, I assure you.”
“Are you all right, Pete?” the woman said, swinging toward the horseless rider.
“Yup, I’m fine.”
“Was the horse injured?”
“Nah. He jest took off, is all.”
“You see?” Zach said. “No harm’s been done.”
No harm’s been done, Eve thought, glaring at the intruder from under the brim of her borrowed hat. What a stupid thing to say! Francis had reshot this same scene four times now, wasting heaven only knew how much film, and each time it had ended the same way, with him stroking that ridiculous little goatee and shaking his head and saying that it still wasn’t quite what he wanted.
The only thing Eve wanted was to put the scene in the can, strip off the jeans and shirt and hat the props man had pieced together for her so the sun and the dust wouldn’t finish her off permanently, jump in her car and speed to town to deal with Zachary Landon, who must have arrived by now. She’d been trying and trying to contact the office by cellular phone, but this damned place was so far off the beaten track that the fool thing wouldn’t work.
And now, just when it had looked as if Pete and Horace the Wonder Horse were about to ride into posterity, this—this jerk had come along and ruined it all.
“Well,” Zach said, smiling politely, “if you don’t mind
“Do you have any idea what a mess you’ve caused?”
Zach’s smile tilted. “Madam, in case you hadn’t noticed, I almost broke my neck a few minutes ago. If I were you——”
“You came barreling smack into the middle of my set, scared off my horse, injured my rider——”
“He just told you himself, he’s not injured.”
“And you have the nerve to stand there and tell me that no harm’s been done?”
Zach’s smile faded completely. “Listen, lady——”
“Don’t ’listen, lady’ me!” Eve snatched the hat from her head and slapped it against her leg. Her hair tumbled to her shoulders in a golden cloud. “Why didn’t you slow down as you approached?”
“Approached what?” Zach said, trying not to stare at the wild mane of sunflower-bright curls, as incongruous on this ranting, shapeless creature as a garland of roses would be on a bull. Although, now that he considered, she really wasn’t shapeless. He could see the high thrust of her breasts even under that boxy shirt, and there was the suggestion of a narrow waist, gently rounded hips, and long legs hidden under those jeans…
“Approached my set, that’s what!”
“Look, I didn’t see a thing except dirt and cactus until your horse damned near killed me.”
“Horace couldn’t kill anybody! He can’t even find his way out of a stall without help!”
“Horace? The horse is named Horace?”
“Yes,” Eve snapped, “Horace the Wonder Horse.” Her face colored as Zach’s brows rose. “It’s not funny! That horse is worth a fortune. Why, without him——”
“Let me get this straight,” Zach said slowly. “You’re making a movie about a horse named Horace?”
Eve felt her face, already hot from an hour on this hillside, turn hotter. She knew how it sounded. Dammit, she felt the same way herself. It was incredible to think that Triad was wasting time on a film like this, but it hadn’t been her idea. Howard Tolland had signed the contracts, made the commitments and stuck her with it.
“A movie,” the man said, and laughed, “a movie about a horse named Horace.”
Eve’s gaze shot to his. “Okay,” she said coldly, “you’ve had your laugh. Now turn that car around and get out of here.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Zach said, his eyes narrowing.
“It’s you that’s simple, mister. This is a closed set on private property, and you have no right to be here. I’m telling you again. Turn around and get out of here.”
“Trust me, lady.” Zach looked past Frances Cranshaw, trying to identify Eve Palmer in the sea of interested faces watching them. “You don’t want to toss me off this set.”
Terrific, Eve thought, just what she needed. Another out-of-work actor invading the set. They did it all the time. The UPS guy was an actor, and the kid from Western Union, and even the pizza delivery girl, all of them determined to make an impression.
Well, this man had certainly done that, but who could blame him for trying? She sighed and slapped her hat against her leg.
“Look,” she said, not unkindly, “why don’t you leave your press book with——”
“My what?”
“Your photos. Your resume, whatever. If a part comes up, we’ll get in touch.”
“A part? You think I’m after a part in your two-bit horse opera? You actually think that I…” Zach clamped his lips together. Why was he letting this woman, this Frances Cranshaw, irritate him so? His